


do i have to fall asleep with roses in my hands

by admiraloftheships



Series: continuum [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Bakery, Croissants, F/M, Flowers, Jealousy, John Mayer song, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Has a Crush on Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Oblivious Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Pink Roses, Roses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23680138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admiraloftheships/pseuds/admiraloftheships
Summary: Adrien Agreste has a plan. It's a simple plan. Get some flowers, get a bouquet together, and present it to Ladybug. Marinette has a plan, too. It's even simpler. Talk to Adrien. And both plans get thrown into the air when both of them run into a friendly blonde florist who may be more than she seems.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste/Original Character
Series: continuum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705189
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	1. the waking up is the hardest part

**Author's Note:**

> "When you're dreaming with a broken heart  
> The waking up is the hardest part  
> You roll outta bed and down on your knees  
> And for a moment you can hardly breathe"
> 
> \- John Mayer

Adrien sighed, and let his head drop down onto the pillow. His body ached, his muscles tired and strained from the day. It always was like this, but then again, the rush of adrenaline in his body never really seemed to leave him for a few hours after he went for a midnight run as Chat Noir.

He blew the breath out from his lungs. Usually he held onto that burst of energy to catch up on schoolwork or head to the gym downstairs for a quick workout. 

But not today. It was one of those nights, which he had every now and then, in which he decided that pining and moping around his house was a great idea. His fingers opened and closed, his fingers rubbing against each other, as he remembered the feeling of a hand grasped in his, and the view of masked blue eyes (blue!) looking right into his. Adrien groaned and threw a hand over his forehead.

“Sick, kid?” Plagg threw over his shoulder as he dug into a piece of Camembert.

“Don’t say it, Plagg,” Adrien warned.

“I’m going to anyway.”

“Knew you would.”

“Hey, you gave me cheese.”

“And I can take it away.”

“I’ll still say it.”

“Fine.”

“Lovesick.”

Adrien turned around to moan into his pillow. “She’s so amazing, Plagg!” Adrien began. “She’s kind, smart, kinda funny, although not quite as funny as me, and amazingly pretty too!”

Plagg sighed. “Kid, you don’t even know what she looks like.”

“Well,” Adrien began, flushing. He didn’t finish his sentence. After all, when one was jumping and twisting and leaping around, skintight suits, even magic suits, didn’t hide a lot from onlookers.

Plagg shook his head. 

“Kid, this is a nightmare. You can’t keep doing this every time she winks at you.”

“It’s not every time!” Adrien shot back. Well, it was today, anyway, Adrien realised, flushing. And there did seem to be a correlation between moments Ladybug had winked at him and moments where he slumped onto the bed.

“Go to sleep, Adrien,” Plagg said, turning back to the thick scent of Camembert, and a night’s worth of enjoyment. This, Plagg thought contentedly, was the life. A cushy bed, rich, rich, cheese, whenever he needed it, and even a life in the City of Light.

And some peace and quiet, a great view of the city. The night air brisk and cool, and from here just the faint buzz of the Parisian nightlife.

Plagg ate another piece of cheese.

“...”

“Plagg?”

Plagg tried to hold in the sigh this time.

“Go to sleep, Adrien.”

“What if I got flowers?”

Stuffing more cheese into his mouth, Plagg secretly hoped that the young man’s day of jumping would catch up with him faster, and send his head down like a lead balloon. Unfortunately, Adrien had ideas.

“Imagine, Plagg. I show up, and give her flowers. Something nice. Something to show my feelings.”

Adrien ran a hand through his blond hair. 

“Nothing fancy or anything, just nice.”

His fingers twitched shut again. Usually it was a ghost sensation of Ladybug’s hand in his, or else the solid steel of his staff, but tonight he was thinking of a bundle of smooth stalks.

At the top, some flowers. Adrien had been around some flower arrangers in his time as a model, and they’d always been intricate and rich, placed in beautiful spirals and shapes, mixing together flowers from all over the world, bombarding his senses with a blend of exotic scents and colours.

But he didn’t want any of that. No, that might be scary. Adrien’s eyes narrowed at his ceiling. He would need help, though. He knew nothing about flowers, and, he decided, knowing something would be nice. 

But the way Ladybug looked away when he flirted, when she had said there was another boy she liked.

And then right after that she’d winked at him. 

That had been...Adrien’s mind went blank.

Um.

Adrien didn’t know who the mystery man was, other than the fact that whoever it was had blond hair. I’m blond too, Adrien thought for a second. Then he brushed it away. It wasn’t like Ladybug had a boyfriend or something, Adrien thought. There was still time to convince her of his awesomeness. 

Still time. 

It still hurt to think about it, but, dreaming of flowers and a certain girl sitting with a blond-haired boy, Adrien fell asleep at last.

\--

Marinette was walking through the school gates the next morning when it happened. One moment she was looking down, quietly, trying to clear her mind of the fog of tiredness, and the other she was tripping over herself and into someone. 

She collided straight into someone’s back, and suddenly she found herself sprawled over a person, her eyes suddenly clearer and sharper, and the boy beneath her was blond and turning his head, and looking startled and it was Adrien Agreste and…

Oh, Marinette thought weakly to herself. 

“Hi, fall, erm, I fell, not you, but I fall, around, erm, er,” Marinette stammered, her mouth going on autopilot, as Adrien blinked at her.

“Hello, Marinette,” he said, just a little bemused and friendly. “Would you mind,” Adrien asked, gesturing vaguely to where Marinette still lay half sprawled on him. “I do prefer to be off the floor,” Adrien said, smiling.

Marinette had to physically tell herself to breathe as she slipped off him and onto the ground. Adrien stood, and stretched out a hand to her. Dumbfounded, she took it, and Adrien pulled her upright.

Adrien shot her a friendly smile. “Let’s go, then.”

He turned and began to walk away. There was a little extra spring in his step than usual, Marinette thought. Some traitorous part of her mind told her to look closely at that spring in his step, and Marinette flushed, swallowing. Why, she thought desperately, did skinny jeans have to be trendy now?

She could still feel the warmth of his body on her hands. 

“Are you coming?”

“Hmm?” was Marinette’s intelligent answer. 

“We have class together,” Adrien said, halfway through the door.

“Oh, right,” Marinette squeaked, realising that she had been standing stock still for nearly 30 seconds. 

Something occurred to Marinette. “Y-you know we have class together?” she asked, secretly proud of coming up with a half-decent sentence.

Adrien chuckled a little, and Marinette tried not to trip over herself. It was too easy whenever Adrien laughed, she’d just forget which foot was which, and then she should listen to his reply before she missed it.

“Of course, Marinette.” Adrien said casually, as they stepped around the morning crowd towards class. “You do sit right behind me. It would be strange if I didn’t remember you.”

Marinette had to keep walking straight, she told herself. Focus! It was this razor sharp focus, used whenever she remembered not to be a klutz and when she was dodging table-sized CDs on the rooftops, which made her notice it.

Adrien usually carried a stylish backpack, and kept his water bottle inside. Today, the water bottle pocket was filled. But not by a water bottle. It was a vase, a simple, plain, white, ceramic vase, and it had a little fissure of a crack snaking down the side. Probably, Marinette realised guiltily, from her knocking straight into it. 

Then she looked up and walked into an open locker. 

\--

Tapping his pencil against the table listlessly, Adrien waited for class to end. He desperately wanted to buy the flowers as himself, but knew that instantly, there would be paparazzi, pictures everywhere, and if Ladybug even saw just one tabloid, he could be blown. 

Not that he would really mind, he supposed, it was more the surprise factor. 

So, Adrien thought, he would go for a florist, somewhere in Paris, somewhere nice, but low-key, and as Chat Noir. His alter-ego was always the active, jokey type, and Chat Noir talking to a Parisian florist would, amazingly enough, probably generate much less chatter than if he had gone as himself.

Making up his mind, he stood up quickly when the final bell rang, and waved goodbye to Nino and Alya, heading down the hall. 

“Wait!”

Adrien turned around, and Marinette appeared out of the sea of students, panting a little, her fingers uncurling and fidgeting. Her hair looked a little messy, not unlike a person who had been clutching it in fear for a whole day, staring at a nearly unnoticeable crack in a white vase.

Adrien’s eyes drifted to the fading bruise on the side of her face from when she’d run into a locker earlier that day. His eyes noted hers, a nice, vivid blue.

A vision of vividly sparkling blue eyes behind a mask leapt out at him, and Adrien blinked, recovering his voice.

“Yeah, Marinette?” Adrien looked down at her, a little puzzled.

“Um, well, I bumped, into you, oh sorry, sorry, right, I had to say sorry but I never said sorry and the crack and um, I don’t know how, um, water in the vase, erm, sorry, sorry, but I accidentally, ah, the vase...”

Adrien, a little confused, nevertheless caught something out of that stream of words.

“The vase?”

Pretending that he hadn’t been thinking about it (specifically about filling it with flowers) the entire day, Adrien turned his expression into realisation.

“Oh, yes, the vase. Why, did you want to look at it?”

Adrien reached behind him to pull it out. 

“No!” Marinette blurted.

Adrien tilted his head. “No?”

Was Marinette blushing? Adrien thought she might be. Pushing through a school hallway was hard work, anyway. 

“Um, er,” Marinette began. She stopped, took a deep breath, and said, calmly, “I may have cracked the vase when I, um, ran into you this morning.” She nearly shrank away, looking mortified and definitely blushing. 

“But,” she said hurriedly, “I think I can fix it. Or replace it. Ceramic’s okay, I can fix it. Quickly. Erm, but you need to go to my place, erm.”

Adrien had a sudden image of water leaking out through the crack at night, and the flowers dying before he even woke up. 

Adrien quickly pulled his bag off his shoulder and gingerly inspected the vase. The ceramic did, indeed, have a small crack, almost unnoticeable, but most definitely there.

Adrien smiled at Marinette. “Thanks, Marinette, that would be great.”

Marinette visibly relaxed in relief. 

“Yeah, so, erm, we can, um, go.”

As they walked out of the school, Adrien said, conversationally to Marinette. “You have great eyes.”

Marinette suddenly seemed to be paying a lot of attention to her feet.

“Really?” she said, still looking down.

“Really,” Adrien reassured her. “I don’t think a lot of people would’ve noticed that crack in the vase.”

Once again, Marinette’s shoulders relaxed. Adrien, of course, let that fact slide away. If he had tried, the reason for that relaxation would’ve been clear.

Disappointment.

\--

It’s not like he would’ve said your eyes were a beautiful blue like a summer’s sky, or something dumb like that, Marinette mentally scolded herself.

But still, she was disappointed. More in herself for leaping to conclusions, but still. Marinette ran through her mental checklist again. Baking soda was in the cabinet in the bakery, and she had a year’s supply of superglue in her room upstairs. 

She could do it.

And maybe, just maybe, talk to Adrien a little more. Inviting him to her home had already been a bold move, and she might as well go all the way. Tikki had said as much, anyway, the previous night.

“Marinette, I’ve been advising you for quite some time,” she’d said, “and getting to know Adrien better is the first step. If he shows enough interest in you, maybe you can tell Chat Noir that you have a boyfriend next time he asks.”

She’d choked on her next breath.

“Tikki!” she’d squeaked. “Not that fast!”

Tikki rolled her eyes. “You have the whole family planned out, Marinette. You’ve scribbled down at least five sketches of Adrien in a suit.”

“That’s just copying!”

“Now, Marinette, it isn’t if you put your own twist on the suit voted the ‘most popular wedding suit of the year’, is it?” Tikki said, smugly.

A tapping on her shoulder. 

Adrien was right beside her, looking at her with piercing green eyes. “Is that it?”

Marinette looked up, and it was. Her home, straight ahead. “Yes,” she squeaked out, fingers nervously curling up again. Did he like it? Did he think it looked stupid? He probably did. After all, the Agreste mansion was much classier and stylish, not that she’d know of course, besides reading everything about it.

Adrien’s eyes were wandering, searching store windows and displays around the area they walked through. They kept walking towards the Dupain-Chengs’ bakery, and Adrien’s eyes settled.

Marinette followed his gaze. What was he looking at? The florist, just down the street? Surely not, there wasn’t anything that interesting there at all. 

Then, a flash of blond hair, and Marinette’s heart sank.

A girl, no older than them, with a ponytail of long, light honey-blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, standing at the entrance, her profile turned to them, leaning languidly on a pallet of seeds. 

Marinette vaguely remembered her, Amelie...something. She came in for croissants every Tuesday and Thursday, and without even knowing it, Marinette’s lips curled into a frown. Amelie Something was pretty, really pretty, and most definitely did not know Adrien. And it wasn’t even like Marinette was Adrien’s girlfriend or something, so why did she feel like this?

That ache persisted though, as Adrien looked at Amelie with a very thoughtful and somewhat dreamy expression in his eyes. 

What was he thinking? Marinette felt herself getting smaller and breathing shallower. Adrien had a thing with Chloe, didn’t he? Another pretty blonde. Except, Marinette realised, Amelie seemed to be nothing like Chloe. 

No makeup, for one, and a relaxed, yet confident posture. And Adrien hadn’t had to deal with her cooing at him for years. She probably talked smoothly in low, dulcet tones, and had one of those laid-back, smart, personalities. The kind of person she wished she could be.

Marinette desperately tried to stop herself from imagining ways to put Amelie out of Adrien’s line of sight. Her heart quickened as Adrien tilted his head slightly, almost questioningly, very cutely, and looked, oh why, looked at Amelie with even more curiosity. Marinette tried to quicken her steps, but every second Amelie was in view felt like an eternity. 

Fortunately, that problem solved itself quite quickly, when three steps later, they stepped through the glass doors and into the bakery. Amelie hadn’t even looked their way once.

And now her parents were looking right at her, and quizzically at Adrien, then back at her, and oh no they recognise him from the posters all over my room, don’t they, Marinette thought, and her mind was running like a freight train and she needed to say something, anything at all to Adrien beforehand.

\--

Adrien had been thinking about that little flower shop just a couple blocks down, when the smell of fresh-baked pastries flooded into his nose, and Adrien found himself in a bakery. Neat, well-organised, quite a selection of treats were arranged around him in the bakery, which seemed about average size.

It was tempting for him to buy some snacks while he was here, and he stopped to have a look at a batch of fresh croissants on the counter before turning to see the Dupain-Chengs staring straight at him. 

Marinette’s parents looked at each other almost conspiratorily, before her father, a big, broad-shouldered man, rumbled at him.

“So, young man, who might you be?”

Marinette’s mother, a petite Chinese woman from whom Marinette had obtained her glossy blue-black hair, seemed to hide a smile.

Adrien tried to ignore these strange signs. “Hello, Mr and Mrs Dupain-Cheng,” Adrien said politely, “my name is Adrien Agreste. I’m one of Marinette’s classmates from school. I’m here because I wanted Marinette’s help on a project I’m doing.”

He shot a quick smile at Marinette, who had suddenly taken an interest in a basket of baguettes.

“Excellent, my dear,” Marinette’s mother said, exchanging yet another mysterious glance with the big Frenchman beside her.

“Would you like a snack before you head up? We wouldn’t mind letting you take a couple samples from the new batches,” she motioned to the bakery, which still smelled like, well, almost heaven. 

“Ah, I don’t mind paying for them, Mrs Dupain-Cheng, really, and they do look great,” Adrien said, smiling at them. A little snack wouldn’t hurt. 

Mrs Dupain-Cheng, Adrien was sure now, was definitely hiding a smile, for some reason. Did she treat all new customers like this?

Marinette had seemed to overcome her interest in the baguettes. Hesitantly, she reached out to tap Adrien’s shoulder.

“We should, project, yes, um, go upstairs, finish the crack, project, project,” she stuttered. 

“Yeah,” Adrien realised, “we should. I’ll come back down for the food, then, Mrs Dupain-Cheng. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely try some.”

They were halfway up the stairs when Marinette froze.

“What’s wrong?” Adrien asked. Marinette, who had been in front, turned and smiled jerkily at Adrien. 

“Um, I realised, um, my room, it isn’t, sorry, it’s not that I want to, don’t want to let you see, but um, and only 10, maybe 15 minutes for this, I’m sorry, but um...”

Adrien understood that. He’d definitely be hiding his Ladybug posters when Father eventually let his friends visit. Maybe Marinette had a crush on a movie star, or something like that. 

“No problem, Marinette,” he said. He passed her the vase. As the vase exchanged hands, Adrien decided that he wanted to be truthful.

“Marinette, thank you,” he said, looking up at her, “I need this to work, and that vase is a part of it.”

“You’re welcome,” she said faintly, and quickly, her door opened and shut, and Adrien stood alone in the staircase. Then he turned and headed down the stairs, mentally debating himself in his mind. Going now would negate his Chat Noir disguise, he argued. Ah, he argued to himself, but he just wouldn’t buy anything. Besides, scouting. He'd even brought the vase in case. Hopefully it worked out if he landed unannounced on their sidewalk as Chat Noir, but he would save himself time if he just went now. 

It was decided, then, Adrien realised. He descended the steps, greeted the surprised Dupain-Chengs, and told them he was going for a quick walk around.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he explained, smiling, “and I’ll grab some food here as well, don’t worry.”

Adrien stepped out of the bakery, turned the corner, and went two storefronts down to where pallets of seeds and planters full of flowers curled out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. It looked open, or at least, the doors weren’t shut, and Adrien stepped inside. A wave of fresh, fragrant scents hit him. It smelled, just better, in here. Fresher. 

He looked around. Nobody, it seemed. He zeroed in quickly, though. Bright yellow sunflowers, strong-smelling lavender, and the pink roses, which had caught his attention just now, and made him reconsider just what exactly he’d wanted his bouquet for Ladybug to look like.

It was actually situated just outside the shop, on a stand where they seemed to catch the sun, and he stepped back to outside the shop to look at it closer. It smelled amazing, and looked beautiful. Just like her, a thought whispered in his mind.

Adrien reached out, hesitantly. 

“Try not to damage it,” a smooth, dulcet voice said. 

Adrien froze and turned to look at the speaker. At the counter, which had been empty moments ago, was a blonde girl, about his age. Oh, right, Adrien remembered. He _had_ seen a shopkeeper, when he’d first spotted the store. Her.

Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she leaned lightly over the counter, almost sprawling, holding herself steadily but lightly, relaxed but watchful. Blue eyes, a delicate blue like robins' eggs, watched Adrien hastily withdraw his hand from the roses.

She came out from behind the desk, stepping up towards Adrien elegantly. Her eyes were looking at him, searching, piercing. Adrien tried to find his tongue. Either one, he thought, the polite one Adrien used, or Chat Noir’s flirty vocabulary. 

As long as he managed to look like he wasn’t one of those boys who was derailed completely by a pretty girl.

Pretty? She was, Adrien realised. The florist tilted her head, standing right in front of him. She was only a couple centimetres shorter than him, but that little head tilt seemed very noticeable to Adrien, for some reason. Also, now she was standing on the edge between the shop and sidewalk, and the sunlight was reflecting distractingly off her eyes. 

“Can you speak? Blondie?” Her voice was lower than one may have expected, and she sounded almost exactly like how Marinette imagined she would. Of course, Adrien didn’t know that.

“Yes,” Adrien said, recovering. 

A smile spread across the florist’s face. “He speaks! Welcome to my mother’s humble flower store, where many boys have come in and left with much lighter purses.”

“Really?” Adrien managed. “Some may think there might be a thief here.”

The florist’s face was suddenly wide-eyed and innocent. “Oh yes. We specialise in thieves and their victims.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh yes,” she said, delicately plucking two of the pink roses Adrien was observing, and walking towards the counter. She moved elegantly and purposefully, like a rather intelligent cat.

“Those who intend to steal hearts often come here looking for a little something. Like all good thieves, a little sleight of hand, a distraction in the shape of a flower. And so many victims,” she shook her head, as she began folding paper and plastic around the two flowers. “All those poor, poor boys stumble into this shop with their hearts stolen, and the sudden need to get flowers.”

“So I guess I’m an exception,” Adrien tried, hitting her with his best smile, stepping up to the counter.

The florist narrowed her eyes. “No, it’s easy to tell.” 

She finished wrapping the flowers.

“Which one am I, then?” Adrien asked.

The florist tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Then she laughed, a quick, melodic thing, and she pulled an empty vase on the counter close to her, and placed the bouquet inside it, the two roses looking small inside the wide confines of the paper.

“You enter the Dupain-Chengs’ and don’t buy anything, you come into here looking for flowers, and you don’t intend to buy them yet. Interesting,” she mused.

Adrien tried to keep his mouth shut. 

“What-how, no, I’m, not...”

The florist, in a single, elegant motion, leaned over the counter and placed a finger on his lips.

“A girl never tells, Blondie.” She smiled at him again, and Adrien felt his heartbeat quicken. “Although that does raise a question of whether you are a thief or not. I may need multiple tests,” she said, smirking at him.

Adrien tried not to flush. 

“So you don’t know, then,” he said.

“Well,” she said, “get me a croissant, and maybe I will.”

“A croissant?” Adrien had never felt more flustered and confused.

The florist seemed to delight in this particular aspect of this conversation, leaning closer, almost nose-to-nose with Adrien. “A croissant. Delicious pastry, made just down the road?”

Adrien could see her eyes sparkle in mischief. “Uhh. Yeah. I know what a croissant is.” 

“You’re really missing out if you don’t get some,” she said, “the Dupain-Chengs do the best croissants in Paris.”

“I never intended to,” Adrien retorted. He glanced at the pink roses again. How did she know? Could she help him? The florist, well, she seemed definitely like the type who people gave flowers to, and maybe she could help him make the bouquet. After all, Adrien figured, he couldn’t rely on YouTube for everything. 

“Come back with croissants, then,” she said, trying to hide a smile, “and then we can talk.”

“I’ll be back, then,” Adrien said, shooting her his best smile. 

Adrien turned and walked out of the flower shop, checking his watch. Only five minutes had passed. It was all fine. But that had seemed much longer than five minutes. And now his head was full of flowers, ideas, and sky blue eyes. 

“Get a couple eclairs too, Mr Agreste!” she called. 

“No problem,” Adrien called over his shoulder. Satisfied, the florist relaxed back into her seat behind the counter.

When he was walking through the doors of the bakery, he realised something. He’d never told her his name. And then something more important hit him.

He’d never learnt hers, either. 

\--

Marinette couldn’t stop pacing. She’d risked sneaking back downstairs to grab the baking soda, only to see Adrien leaving the bakery.

“He promised he’ll be back, Marinette,” her mother had said, smiling patiently at her. “He’s a nice boy. He will.” She patted Marinette lightly on the back. “Your father’s croissants are irresistible. You were made by the same baker.”

“Mom!” Marinette flushed red. She snatched the baking soda and went back up to her room, peering out the window. Adrien was at the flower shop. She saw him stop and look closely at some pink roses. 

A thought came unwarranted into her mind. Were those for her? They could be. She could see it. Adrien bringing her to a bridge on the Seine, talking to her, then pulling out a vase, with a beautiful bouquet centered around pink roses.

The vase.

Oh! Right. Marinette got to work, using the baking soda and the superglue to seal the hairline crack in the vase, focusing on that, very carefully not looking out the window. Tikki watched Marinette anxiously. 

Tikki quietly flew up to the window. She looked out for a couple seconds, then attempted to discreetly shut the curtains. Just in view was Amelie, on the shop’s threshold, talking to Adrien, who looked either dumbstruck or lovestruck. 

So, when Marinette finished, she had to lift the curtain to lean outside and check.

“Marinette, maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Tikki said hopefully. “Maybe he just likes flowers.”

This was when Marinette began the aforementioned pacing. 

“Tikki, he’s not that kind of boy,” Marinette said, sighing. “He’s into literature, a good pastry, and games.”

Left unspoken in Marinette’s mind was _and he’s into blondes._

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity but was five minutes, Adrien left the flower shop. 

Amelie said something, and Adrien had replied, easily. 

Almost offhand. Like they’d known each other for years. Marinette had caught one word. Amelie had said “Agreste”. She knew who Adrien was. A part of her had been holding on to the hope that if Amelie didn’t know who Adrien was, then she’d never appear again in Adrien’s life. 

“Jealousy’s not good, Marinette,” Tikki said cautiously. “She doesn’t know him like you do.”

Fighting back a sudden bout of tears, Marinette jammed a finger into her eye. “What’s wrong with me?” she muttered. “Chloe’s been trying to flirt with him forever, but he meets one florist and I’m nearly crying.”

A minute later, there was a knock on the door.

“Marinette?” It was Adrien. “When you’re done with the vase, I’ll be waiting just downstairs, okay?”

“Yeah! Sure.” Marinette tried to keep her voice steady.

“No problem at all,” Adrien said, sounding more cheerful than before.

Why wouldn’t he? Marinette thought. He’d just met a pretty girl. Marinette took the next five minutes to breathe with Tikki, before picking up the vase and heading downstairs. Just give him the vase, she told herself. That’s all it is. 

She descended the steps into the bakery, and there Adrien was, paying for a couple croissants. 

“Can I get a couple eclairs too, Mrs Dupain-Cheng?” Adrien asked, gesturing to the refrigerated display of eclairs beside the cash register. 

“No problem, Adrien,” Marinette saw her mother say. Wait. Adrien didn’t really enjoy eclairs, she knew. So why…

“You did remember the eclairs after all,” a low, melodic voice remarked, and Amelie stepped into the bakery, wearing a pretty half-smile, in a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. She moved gracefully towards Adrien, who got his change back, and turned to pass the eclairs to Amelie.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Adrien said, smiling at her.

Amelie smiled back, and they looked like a magazine cover, passing the bag to each other, and Marinette wanted, for a split second, to pull out her phone and snap a picture. “My shift’s just ended, so I thought I might as well check in on my delivery service.”

“Delivery service?” Adrien raised an eyebrow.

“I hope you got more than one croissant,” Amelie retorted. “I sense much to discuss.”

Adrien blushed. “I got three.”

“Odd numbers. Interesting.” Amelie said thoughtfully, tipping her head. 

Marinette stood half-crouched in the staircase, watching Amelie tuck light honey-blond hair behind her ear and open the paper bag of eclairs. Adrien stepped a little closer to Amelie, and Marinette felt her heart clench.

Adrien whispered something into her ear, and Marinette could see Amelie’s lips curl up into a smile. 

“Well, Adrien,” Amelie said, “if you want to find out, you’ll have to come back, won’t you?” She winked, fluttering her eyelashes, and snagged the bag of croissants as well, sliding one out and into Adrien’s hand. Then she turned to Marinette’s parents.

“Good afternoon, Mr and Mrs Dupain-Cheng!” she said warmly. “Where’s Marinette today?”

Her parents exchanged a glance, and Marinette ducked out of view. Amelie knew her name? 

“Probably upstairs,” Marinette heard her father say.

“Oh yeah,” Adrien said, “I’m just waiting for her to help me with something.”

“She’s a great artist,” she heard him say (to _her_ , probably), “I had a little side project of mine go a little wrong, and she was kind and smart enough to help me fix it.”

That little sentence burned like an ember in her heart, and Marinette straightened her back and stepped out.

“Adrien, I’ve finished with-” Marinette stopped, feigning surprise. “Oh. Hello.” She waved to Amelie, who smiled back at her very sincerely, and Marinette tried to quench the sudden guilty feeling erupting in her stomach. 

Also, and Marinette really couldn’t emphasise that enough to herself, Amelie was beautiful. And, Marinette thought, she herself was just...awkward, and clumsy, and didn’t have blonde hair. 

“Here’s the vase,” Marinette said, standing straight and holding it out. Adrien, mid-bite, looked down at his hands, one of which was holding a croissant. 

“Uh,” Adrien stuttered, looking panicked and puzzled. And cute, Marinette thought for the millionth time. 

Amelie sighed, and plucked the croissant out of Adrien’s hand. 

“I’ll hold this.”

Adrien shot Amelie a thankful look, and he took the vase from Marinette, their fingers brushing. 

“Thanks,” he said softly, his lips just slightly upturned. He placed the vase carefully into his bag. Then Adrien turned around, and Amelie, for once, didn’t look too graceful. She looked mortified, actually, halfway, through eating Adrien’s croissant. 

She blushed, and held out the bag of croissants.  
“Sorry,” she said, swallowing. “But I really love these croissants.”

“I bought three, anyway,” Adrien said, “we might’ve had to share one, anyway.”

Amelie favoured Adrien with a smile that lit up her face. She transferred one of the two remaining croissants into her bag of eclairs, and passed the bag with the last croissant back to Adrien. “I owe you for this, Blondie.” she said.

Marinette was speechless, more so than usual. _Blondie?_

Adrien shook his head. “I’m paying and that’s the last you’ll hear about it.”

Amelie snorted. “You’re lucky I like free stuff, Blondie. Shame I won’t get some of that Agreste fashion with your free snacks.”

Then she leaned close to Adrien and whispered in his ear again. 

Adrien nodded. “I’ll see you around, Flower Girl.” he quipped.

“Good,” Amelie said appreciatively. “You’re learning, Blondie. But I still have the edge, Mr Agreste.” She winked at him and left.

Adrien binked, then turned to look at Marinette, whose shoulders were most definitely relaxed. Marinette wasn’t ready to meet Adrien’s gaze yet. Her already slim chances were slashed now to almost nothing, and it was with false cheer that she showed Adrien out of the door and promised to see him tomorrow. 

She didn’t want to see her parents look pitifully at her, and she definitely didn't need cheering up from Tikki. Because she liked Amelie, who was nothing like Chloe. As much as she didn’t want to, the florist seemed to fit in with Adrien so much better than she ever would. 

Would there just be a little chance for her? She thought that she knew the answer. There was always a little window, but now her determination had been doused. Marinette slumped onto her bed and stared at the poster of Adrien on her wall. Sandy blonde hair, piercing green eyes, and a smile that wouldn’t quite be hers.

Finally, she’d managed to help out Adrien with something, and introduce him to the bakery, and something like this had to happen. 

There was a faraway explosion, some screams, and Marinette almost hated herself then, because a not inconsiderable part of her had felt relieved. She stood up, and prepared to head out and take on the next akuma. 

As she vaulted with Chat Noir’s staff minutes later, she lost her balance and landed, dazed, in a planter box, surrounded by flowers. Stay awake! Marinette commanded herself. Gripping the flowers, she stood. She could fall asleep and dream later. Time enough for a broken heart and pink roses after this.

\--

That had been one heck of a fight, Adrien reflected, as he landed, his legs screaming and shaking. He hadn’t expected a chandelier to come at his face the moment he turned the corner. 

Still, Ladybug had seemed distracted today. Adrien shuddered at the mental image of Ladybug slamming into a planter. It had seemed like a distorted image of his flower plan for her. Well, a few seconds later she had snapped back, and a few moments later, they’d taken him down and out. 

It was almost night, the sun bleeding down, saturating the violet sky with yellow and orange.

Adrien, almost on autopilot, vaulted and leapt between buildings, landing lightly on the rooftop opposite the florist. A light caught his eye, and he saw Marinette standing at her balcony, looking out. She looked...lost.

A pang of guilt shot through him, as Adrien realised that he’d spoken to Marinette less times than he had fingers. She sat right behind him, and this was the first time he’d spoken to her for more than five minutes. 

Adrien leapt across the street, exulting in the cold evening air, and hit the rooftop just a little early. There was a moment of exhausted hindsight, and then Adrien went falling off the side, bouncing off the awning and landing heavily on all fours, his wrists and ankles aflame. 

“Ow,” Adrien said, as the metallic clang of his staff hitting the ground echoed around him. 

His head was spinning, and so Adrien didn’t quite place the voice at first. “Are you hurt, Chat Noir?”

He sprung upright in what he hoped was a jaunty manner. A girl was talking to him, that much he could tell. Flirty, he told himself, but not too flirty. 

“No,” he said, his voice lower and with a hint of a purr in it, as it always did when he was Chat Noir. “I’m fine.”

Adrien flashed a smile. 

“So cats do land on their feet,” she noted, and she helped an unsteady Adrien to his feet. She smelled of lavender and freshly cut grass, Adrien’s enhanced senses told him. He bowed over her hand, smiling rakishly. 

“Chat Noir, at your service.” 

Adrien looked up, and froze as he suddenly found himself looking into Flower Girl’s mischievous blue eyes.

She smiled down at him, and this really had not been part of the plan, Adrien thought weakly. He’d just wanted some flowers.


	2. will you wake up by my side?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelie and Chat Noir decide to talk. Marinette reluctantly goes for coffee the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She takes you in with her crying eyes  
> Then all at once you have to say goodbye  
> Wondering, could you stay, my love?  
> Will you wake up by my side?"  
> \- John Mayer

Amelie Delacroix had been having a nice day. Well, not too nice. After that conversation with Adrien Agreste of all people, she’d had to fend off at least seven reporters. Still, that was more business than she usually got on her normal shift. There just weren’t too many people interested in flowers these days.

She’d also gotten free croissants out of it, Amelie thought to herself smugly. And Adrien, now there was a little mystery for her to solve. She put her feet up on the desk and sighed. Amelie had been about to head upstairs, but then the call had come in.

“Sorry,” Timothy had said in his best I’m-really-sick voice, and immediately called in sick. According to Janelle, his girlfriend, he really was sick. Amelie leaned back into her chair. She’d set the two up, and now they were both lying to her.

So here she was, watching the light outside fade from within the shop. She’d have to close up soon, lock things up and head back upstairs.

Idly, she unlocked her phone and got on the internet. Of course, there was still news from the earlier akuma attack across the city. 

“The Lanterner,” Amelie murmured. “We really are running out of names for these guys.”

She clicked on the video attached, and watched a shaky camera capture Ladybug getting thrown into a planter. “Ouch,” Amelie muttered. But Ladybug got back up, and somersaulted onto the Lanterner’s back, spinning her yo-yo around him. Chat Noir rose up behind the Lanterner silently, and slashed the wiring on his back apart. 

There was an open-mouthed scream of rage as the Lanterner came down onto the pavement with Chat Noir perched atop him, swinging his staff and using it to flip the man around.

Ladybug stomped on a lightbulb on the Lanterner’s chest, and out came the black butterfly.

That was that. 

Scanning through the news quickly, she felt her phone vibrate. Several questioning messages from her classmates, all of them linking to a just-published article in a well-known Parisian tabloid. One of the classy ones insofar as you can call a tabloid classy. 

There was a picture of the two of them talking just outside the shop, and, Amelie supposed reluctantly, one might be tricked into thinking that there was obvious romantic attraction. She brightened. They’d left the shop name in the picture, so that was some free advertising, at least. 

She checked the byline. Richard Jachelle. Ah, that one. Clean-cut, professional man, he’d come in without pretense and just asked her outright and politely to boot, which was unexpected enough that Amelie had actually told him something. 

He hadn’t tried to sneak into the store or awkwardly attempt to guide a conversation, so she hadn’t done what she’d done to the others. The rude ones had tripped over cacti, and to her delight the other two had been rather sensitive to pollen. 

So yes, she’d given that man something. 

“ADRIEN AGRESTE CONSIDERING ROSES, SAYS FLORIST- WILL WE MEET A NEW BEAU SOON?” the headline read, which wasn’t too bad. He’d only speculated on her connection to Adrien once in the article, and the wave of fangirl rage she’d been dreading had yet to arrive. 

Speaking of fangirls, Amelie turned her thoughts to Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She didn’t know her that well, but she liked Tom and Sabine, who were both nice to her and the makers of the best croissants in Paris. And the poor girl was so far gone that Amelie almost couldn’t believe Adrien wasn’t seeing it.

Scratch that, she was so far gone that maybe it was believable that Adrien might’ve missed it. Marinette didn’t strike Amelie as an outgoing person, and based on Adrien’s reactions to her, he wasn’t too bright on the romantic side either. Interesting, because the flowers weren’t for Marinette, whoever they were for. Shame, Amelie thought. Marinette was nice, and cute, too. Might make a good couple.

Her phone was now practically vibrating out of her hand. The messages were getting a little more frantic.

Amelie just sighed and told them, yes, she had met Adrien Agreste, no, he didn’t ask her out, and yes, he looked just like the pictures. She smirked to herself. Adrien’s expression upon hearing his name come out of her mouth had been adorable. 

He was almost everywhere in fashion, and even florists sometimes paid attention to that. 

Adrien was a looker, wasn’t he, Amelie mused. Tall, sandy blonde hair, green eyes, model-fit body. Polite, too, Amelie remembered, though a little flirty.

If she hadn’t known from the look in his eyes that he had his heart on another girl, she would probably have tried to flirt a little harder with Adrien. Poor boy somehow wasn’t even used to a girl flirting in a more...subtle manner, and messing with him was very fun.

Maybe the other models did act like the dumb blondes on TV, Amelie thought. The sky was really darkening now. Sighing, Amelie got out of her chair and strode to the front of the shop. 

She was almost done moving the last of the planters and pallets into the store when Chat Noir dropped out of the sky and hit the awning. 

\--

Adrien let himself be guided into the flower store, an arm draped over Flower Girl’s shoulder, trying to keep his balance. 

“Sit here,” she said softly into his ear, sitting him down on a half empty display stand in the middle of the store. He sat, his left side surrounded by flowers. Flower Girl’s fingers were on his face, gently tilting his head around, feeling his skull delicately. Then they gripped his wrists and his hands, and then lightly coiled around his ankles.

“I’m not feeling any damage,” she said, “but do you feel anything?”

“No, I’m fine, Miss,” Adrien said, keeping his best flirty grin on, “and I feel nothing but your excellent touch.”

Flower Girl snorted. “If you think that’s the limit of my touch then you’re a little off, Chat Noir.”

Adrien was very glad that the mask hid most of his blush. 

“Sit there and rest, Chat Noir. I won’t have you jumping off rooftops yet.” Amelie ordered, striding outside. Sounds of movement, and she came in with a couple potted flowers, placing them on the counter, before closing the doors of the shop, flipping the sign from open to closed.

Eventually, Adrien’s head stopped spinning. He rested his hands on his thighs, blinking down at the ground. He turned his head to the side and looked straight into a sunflower. Oh right, he realised. He did have a purpose in coming here. 

“Are you a florist?” Adrien asked, being careful not to sound too alert or too smug. Just the right complement of puzzlement and confidence.

“No,” Flower Girl said, giving Adrien a brilliant smile, “I just bought a lot of flowers and forgot about selling them.”

Adrien blinked, and for a second he did believe her. Then Flower Girl giggled, and rolled her eyes at him. “Really, Chat Noir,” she said, “I thought that you could infer much better than that.”

“You could’ve been a thief, or something...” Chat Noir muttered.

“Oh yes, with the lights on, and then helping a superhero into the place I’m robbing,” Flower Girl said. Adrien looked at her again. She looked different. Good different, as in somehow she looked better than before. He blinked. Adrien really was slower today, because he was thinking of flowers, then back to Marinette, then back to Flower Girl, who was organising a haphazard pile of seeds packets. She tucked some of her hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing as she worked. 

“Your hair,” Adrien blurted. 

Flower Girl turned to him, her head tilted quizzically, her hair falling freely in vague waves of pale blonde, free from the ponytail Adrien had seen her in earlier. It fit her well, Adrien thought, as she watched it fall over her shoulders and sway as she walked towards him.

“What about it?” she said, trapping some of it in her hands.

“It looks better down,” Adrien blurted before he could stop himself.

“Sorry if I don’t trust fashion advice from a hero whose hair looks like a bird nested in there,” Flower Girl responded. “Besides,” she continued, “people have been telling me that for a long time. Must come with being a blonde.”

“No,” Adrien protested, “Not like that. It...frames your face nicely. Plus it...looks nice.”

“I didn’t know Chat Noir, man of the windblown hair and black bodysuit, was an expert on fashion and style,” Flower Girl eyed Adrien up and down, and for not the first or last time, he cursed the skintight suit the Miraculous gave him. Flirty, Adrien told himself. You’re Chat Noir, the most confident bachelor in Paris.

He gave Flower Girl a confident once-over of his own, making sure to linger a little on her admittedly pretty face, long, strong legs, and a slender body. 

“You’re not much of a fancy dresser yourself,” Adrien replied, trying to insert a little extra purr in his voice as he leaned towards her, gesturing to her plain white shirt and jeans. 

Flower Girl pulled a trimmed rose from a stand behind her and perched it in her hair. “How about now?” she purred back, winking at Adrien. 

Adrien, once again, needed to find his tongue. “A little better,” he managed. Roguish, he told himself. Like Harrison Ford. “Of course, that’s not as beautiful as you,” Adrien told her.

“Alright, Chat Noir,” Flower Girl said, leaving the rose in her hair, “I think you’re back on normal functions. Although your flirting could use some work.”

Was Flower Girl blushing? Adrien narrowed his eyes. She was, Adrien realised. 

“Oh, of course it can,” Adrien decided to try it. He had come here for a reason, anyway. 

“Since I’m here, why don’t you tell me which flowers I should get?” Adrien tried to keep his voice light and steady. Flower Girl turned to look at him, her eyes evaluating, considering. Adrien tried not look straight into her eyes, instead focusing on the rose in her hair. 

“Ah ah ah, Chat Noir,” she tutted. “You can’t ask a girl to do that unless she knows who you’re sending the flowers to.”

Adrien had always known something like this would have to happen, but he found himself choking on the words for a few moments. “Well, um, it’s for, well, it’s actually complicated, but I’m giving her flowers, well...”

Adrien’s voice petered out as Flower Girl sighed and shook her head. 

“Second person today with articulation problems. I’d hoped you were better than him, Chat Noir.” She cleared a flowerpot from the display Adrien was sitting on, and sat right next to him, leaning on him lightly, her leg brushing his. “First Adrien Agreste comes here looking for flowers, then now you, Chat Noir. And if you include me, then that’s three cute blondes coming to the same florist.”

Adrien stiffened at the mention of his name.

She half turned her head to wink at Chat Noir. Her presence felt comforting, Adrien realised. Flower Girl had to be flirting, but not too seriously, and that made Adrien’s tongue a little looser. 

“It’s for her. Ladybug.”

Flower Girl started shaking, and Adrien cast a worried eye over her, only to realise that Flower Girl was trying her level best not to break out into laughter. The mirth in her eyes was unmistakable, and she rested her head on Adrien’s shoulder, breathing out the laughter from her voice.

“Oh, my dear Chat, I think everyone in Paris would’ve already figured that out. You’re not too discreet,” Flower Girl said. There was an undertone in her voice that Adrien couldn’t quite place.

“So, what’s she like?” Flower Girl asked. 

Adrien shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you want to know?” 

Flower Girl thought for a moment. “If I don’t, I’ll be giving you the most expensive flowers I can find and that’s it.”

“No!”

Adrien was a little louder than he’d intended, and Flower Girl was laughing again. It sounded nice. 

“I may be a good florist, and a good bouquet maker, but I can’t read minds completely. I need to know what she’s like and who she is, and then I’ll need some details about her thoughts about you, and hopefully that’ll be enough for me to come up with an arrangement for you.” Flower Girl lifted her head a little from Adrien’s shoulder.

“Flowers are a little more complicated than you thought, huh?”

Adrien’s head was spinning again. “You can do all of that with flowers?”

Flower Girl turned to look up at Adrien. “That’s the secret when you can combine costs, colours, and scents; you can use a bouquet to convey an entire relationship, if you have to.”

This couldn’t be a one night swing-by, Adrien realised. This might take at least two visits. 

“Three,” Flower Girl said. 

He turned to look at her in surprise. She shrugged. “I’m not a mind reader, but I’m pretty close when I’m dealing with lovesick boys.”

Adrien blew out a breath. Might as well start now. 

\--

Chat Noir had been talking for half an hour. Amelie was impressed that he was still going, and she had been taking it in, for the most part, in between bouts of blank-faced nodding. 

So. Ladybug had bluish-black hair, vivid blue eyes (A little like yours, actually, Adrien had said) and was calm, poised, and levelheaded. She could think her way out of a dozen different scenarios, could leap into the air and hit what she was aiming for, fend him off nicely, and she would listen to him, sometimes, when they talked. 

“Talked about what?” Amelie had asked, feeling like a knockoff therapist. 

“Stuff,” Chat Noir had shrugged. “How we intend on planning our next meetups, general strategy, how hard it is to be a teen in Paris.”

Amelie had allowed herself a laugh at that. As much as a lot of things Chat Noir had said sounded superficial when she repeated them mentally to herself, the sincerity and the stories which Chat Noir had told her were all genuine. The feeling in his voice, the wonder, the way he described her saving him time and time again. 

She had to, Amelie decided, meet Ladybug sometime. Amelie already thought Ladybug was wicked cool just from how she was saving Paris, but now? With all this?

“...and wow, if only she knew how I felt about her! I almost told her, once. Well, not once. Many times I’ve wanted to confess how...deep my feelings are for her. But I know that’s just going to scare her, and I don’t want that to happen. If only there was a way for me to just, well, that’s why I’m here, flowers, I thought that might work.”

Chat Noir had stopped talking. That was a little weird. They hadn’t changed posture, Chat Noir reclining a little on the heavy pallets of seeds, Amelie with her head on his shoulder. 

The vibration of his voice had been going on for quite some time, and Amelie vaguely remembered seeing the streetlights come on, the orange-white burn of the bulbs against the night sky, not that it ever got too dark in this City of Lights.

“Um, Flower Girl? Are you listening to me?”

“Hmm?” Amelie watched the outside world move silently in time for a couple seconds, her eyelashes fluttering. She quashed a yawn and looked up into Chat Noir’s eyes, an unnaturally bright green, his chiseled features staring down at her, and Amelie told herself to take a breath. 

“Yeah, I’ve been listening.” Amelie said, before letting out a yawn. “Just a little...sleepy.”

Chat Noir shifted hesitantly. “Maybe I should go.”

“No, no, you can stay. It’s Friday, anyway. Not like there’s school tomorrow or anything.” Amelie reassured him. It wasn’t that Amelie wanted Chat Noir to stay a little longer or anything.

No, she told herself. She wasn’t that kind of girl, and wouldn’t be. Chat Noir was cute, though. So’s Adrien Agreste, Amelie had to remind herself. 

“Maybe we can continue this upstairs, then.” Chat Noir said. 

Amelie brightened. Something fun to take her mind off that nasty internal debate. 

“Ooh Chat Noir, didn’t peg you as that type of boy,” Amelie said, leaning even closer and purring in her best cat impression.

It worked, to her eternal delight, as Chat Noir’s eyes went wide, and the magic cat ears went back, and he began babbling. 

Amelie laughed again, and stood up, in a quick, smooth motion. “Come on, then. I’ll show you to my balcony.”

“Your balony?” Chat Noir asked quizzically, shaking off the embarrassment. 

“So you can land properly next time, and not on the awning,” Amelie said, a half-smile tugging at her lips. 

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you,” Chat Noir said, shaking his head.

“Seems you already know the answer,” Amelie said. 

Amelie brought the shutter down, locked the doors, and she turned off the lights. For a moment, all she could see was the glare of Chat Noir’s eyes, then she turned to turn on the staircase lights. 

Amelie cursed, fumbling, and Chat Noir leaned over her and pressed the switch. The dim lights in the staircase flickered on. 

“Cats can see at night,” Chat Noir said with a devilish grin. 

“My hero,” Amelie cooed at him, laughing again at the expression on the superhero’s face. They went up the stairs and into the hallway of the second floor.

Amelie opened her door, turned on the lights, and whistled. 

“Let’s see if you’re a real cat,” Amelie said, tucking some blonde hair behind her ear. Any second now…

Chat Noir’s eyes widened again. 

Amelie stepped inside, and Chat Noir let the door close behind him, crouching down. A tan and white cat had it’s head sticking around the corner of the room, staring at Chat Noir in some state of confusion. 

She strode over, beckoning Chat Noir to follow her. Amelie had a chance to take in her room, which looked semi-presentable. Homework has still piled on her bed and desk, but otherwise, the bookcase was neat as usual, and the cat hadn’t scratched up anything yet, as far as she could see. The cat bed on top of the piano was still there. Excellent. Jacq often toppled it coming down in the morning, then complained with plaintive meows at night.

Amelie picked up her cat. 

“Chat Noir, meet Jacqulyn. Jacqulyn, meet Chat Noir.” Amelie held Jacq’s nose out towards Chat Noir, who bent to Jacq’s eye level. Jacq sniffed Chat Noir, looked up at Amelie, and then meowed at him. 

Jacq looked contented with her introduction to Chat Noir, and the boy looked likewise. Amelie set Jacq down. 

“Can you talk to cats?” Amelie asked him, genuinely curious.

Chat Noir laughed. “I need some secrets too.”

“I’ll give you that, then,” Amelie said, chuckling. “The secret of talking to cats.”

“Or not,” Chat Noir shrugged. 

“Listen,” Amelie said, taking hold of Chat Noir’s hand impulsively. “I’ll do whatever I can. But I need you to do one thing,” she said, stepping closer. 

“What is it?” Chat Noir asked, sounding young and bold and ready to do whatever she asked. And who knows, maybe he would’ve.

“Come back,” Amelie said, smiling, with a hint of melancholy in it which she somehow knew Chat Noir wouldn’t catch, never would. 

“Let me help you finish the story.” Amelie pointed to her desk. “I’ll design your bouquet, now, and then you hire me for the wedding.”

Chat Noir flushed. 

“I’m not-we’re not, well, not we, oh, you know what I mean!”

Amelie laughed at him again. He keeps giving me openings, Amelie thought fondly, and I can’t resist using them as often as possible.

The wind blew a little harder then, rattling the French doors to her balcony. Amelie stepped over and opened them, and the two of them slipped out and into the cold night air. Surprisingly, Amelie saw Jacq get up from her favourite spot on the floor and join them. 

“So,” Amelie said, in faux-enthusiasm, “this is my favourite spot in all of Paris.” She raised her arms and gestured expansively, using the wide-eyed, innocent look that certain male classmates of her liked. 

“From here, you can see the delightful streets of Paris, and down there, is the awning of the best florist in Paris. Also,” and here she leaned in conspiratorily, “some people say that on certain nights, you can see Paris’ great hero Chat Noir, falling from the sky and hitting that awning right there.” 

Chat Noir’s ears drooped. “Come on, Flower Princess,” he complained, “that’s not fair!”

Amelie was already laughing. Then she felt herself blush. It’s just the wind, she told herself. 

“Flower Princess?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“Well, you sell flowers,” Chat Noir pointed out. 

“Well, duh,” Amelie rolled her eyes. “Why princess?”

Chat Noir seemed at a loss for words. 

“Is it your old-fashioned morals, my lord?” Amelie said slyly, “or maybe just my own ridiculously good looks?”

Amelie emphasised that last line, twirling her hair around a hair and leaning on the railing, giving Chat Noir her best look of adoration. 

“How about both?” Chat Noir replied, picking up on the joke. 

“Since I don’t know your name, Flower Princess will do,” Chat Noir said. 

Amelie tapped her fingers, humming to herself thoughtfully. “Should I keep it that way, then? Force you to call me that?”

“No need to force me,” Chat Noir said, “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

“Fine, then,” Amelie sighed, “I suppose I can tell you my name.”

She took this chance to grab his hands again. With an exaggerated amount of sugar in her voice, Amelie pleaded, “But only if you keep it secret.”

Their straight faces lasted barely a second, and they were laughing again. 

Amelie leaned over and whispered her name into Chat Noir’s ear. Chat Noir smiled at her, and leaned over, purring her name back into her ear. Amelie froze, her cheeks suddenly flushing, and Chat Noir jumped over the side of the balcony. 

“If you take down the awning you’re putting it back up,” Amelie warned over her shoulder as she walked back into her room. Jacq sat for a couple seconds more, tilting her head to watch, with that excellent feline vision, a dark shape leap away over Paris’ nighttime skyline. 

\--

It was a Saturday, and that meant good things for Marinette. It meant that her parents had let her sleep in, and that was a minor miracle she needed right now. The last day had been a ridiculous rollercoaster, from start to finish. 

Marinette had thought that it was all over when she’d landed back on her balcony yesterday afternoon, shaking off dirt from the planter. She’d stepped out onto her balcony in the evening after dinner, dodging questions from her parents. She was fine, Marinette told them, but the project she was working on with Adrien was a little stressful. 

Then her phone had vibrated, as she stood out there, in the half dark. Messages from Alya. 

**have u seen this?**

Alya sent a link to an article from one of the more dubious tabloids. Marinette clicked on the link. 

“HAS ADRIEN AGRESTE FOUND LOVE?- WORLD-RENOWNED MODEL SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL”

And even though it was a dubious tabloid, Marinette found some glum comfort in having her hunch validated. They did look great together in a picture, Adrien and Amelie. Someone had managed to get a shot of the two of them together, Adrien and Amelie smiling at each other, Amelie looking back over her shoulder with a pink rose in hand. 

Carefree, confident, relaxed, beautiful. Both of them. Marinette scrolled past lines of excited typing cooing over Amelie’s looks and questioning Adrien’s taste in girls, and there was another picture. 

This one was just Amelie. Well, not just her. There was a boy leaning over the counter, mid sentence, and Amelie was looking back at him, smiling, wrapping a bouquet. Boys had to come in often, Marinette supposed, husbands and boyfriends getting flowers, and at least a few had to have come for her, pretty as she was. 

Marinette tried to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth. Adrien had gone in and gotten nothing. He didn’t want to buy flowers, and he wasn’t the kind of person who wandered. There had to be a reason.

Only one reason fit in Marinette’s head, and that was why she was outside moping. Alone. 

Then, a moving black shadow with a shock of blonde hair caught her eye. Chat Noir? He’d pulled back a little on the flirting today, instead focusing on making sure she was alright. Moments like those, the silly cat looked cute, Marinette found herself thinking.

She shook her head. Chat Noir was a lot of things, but, well, okay, Marinette had to concede, he was cute. But not her type. 

He’d talked to her sometimes, when she was Marinette. He’d stop by, get a pastry and some conversation, and move on. She always did feel better after he stopped by. Maybe that’s why he was here tonight. 

Marinette saw him make a leap, and was about to call out to him when he missed the roof and went down. 

She held in a gasp as Chat Noir went down, he hit the awning first, which nearly buckled under his weight, then off the awning and onto the pavement, landing heavily on all fours. 

Marinette was about to rush downstairs to help when another flash of blonde caught her eye. 

It was her, Marinette realised, her heart sinking to her own surprise. Amelie was saying something to Chat Noir, who tried to stand, and then nearly toppled. Amelie reached out quickly, and wound an arm around Chat Noir’s waist while Chat Noir looped an arm over her shoulders. 

It was far away, but some part of Marinette superimposed Adrien’s dreamy expression from yesterday onto Chat Noir’s face. Of course he would act like that, Marinette found herself thinking with no small amount of spite, just like any other boy. Some dumb blonde smiles at them and that’s all it takes.

Marinette’s eyes widened as she realised what she’d just thought. That was just so... _ awful _ . How could she...

Looking back down, she could see the two of them moving, and Amelie, from here, still seemed as beautiful as ever. They walked into the florist’s shop. 

Marinette waited out in the falling darkness for a couple beats, then she sighed, deep and profoundly sad, and went back inside. 

After tossing and turning in the dark for what felt like an eternity, with Tikki hovering worriedly overhead, Marinette had suddenly heard voices. Much closer, this time. Just a little off to the side. Marinette crept up to her balcony doors, and slid them open. 

There they were, closer, because the two of them were on Amelie’s balcony. Amelie raised her arms, gesturing mockingly. She saw Chat Noir’s ears droop, and Amelie’s laughter drifted along the night air. Then Amelie stopped, and she looked at Chat Noir, and it was dark, but Marinette thought she could sense the look on Amelie’s face.

Intuition, maybe it was, but Marinette was sure that Amelie was blushing, and looking at Chat Noir closely, almost in the same way Marinette herself looked at Adrien. 

Then she heard Chat Noir call Amelie, “...on, Flower Princess.”

Marinette couldn’t help but let out an indignant squeak. Chat Noir only called  _ Marinette _ princess, and when she was Ladybug, “my lady”. Why was she so flustered? Chat Noir? She didn’t-no, she liked Adrien. So why was this bothering her so much?

“It really shouldn’t,” Marinette whispered. But Chat Noir was so warm, and protective of her, and he was really cute, all blonde hair and muscles moving sleekly and powerfully underneath a skintight bodysuit. Chat Noir clearly liked her, and that kind of attention was something that Marinette had enjoyed. 

Because it took her mind off Adrien, and how he’d never pay much attention to her. Marinette’s heart twisted again, remembering Adrien. He’d praised her, thanked her, said he’d noticed her. 

And then he’d met Amelie, and that was that. Now Chat Noir, too? Can’t I just get something? Marinette raged internally. A couple breaths later, Marinette stuck her head out to look again. 

Amelie had her head right beside Chat Noir’s whispering something into his ear. The light streaming from Amelie’s room bathed this little tableau with warm light, and Marinette thought she could make out the sparkle of Amelie’s eyes as Chat Noir whispered back. She leaned away, and then Chat Noir slipped over the railing, and leapt out, away, over the rooftops. 

That had been last night. One whole day, gone, and Marinette, on a Saturday morning, just felt guilty. Her pillowcase still felt a little damp, and Tikki crawled out from under the blanket, whispering to Marinette. 

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Tikki’s eyes were bigger than normal, full of concern. “You can talk to me, we need to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Tikki,” Marinette kept her voice low. “It’s nothing. I just need to accept that I can’t get what I want.”

“Oh Marinette,” Tikki landed on Marinette’s shoulder and hugged her. “We don’t know that, no one does.”

“They’re perfect for each other,” Marinette pointed out. “I don’t want to be the one keeping Adrien from being truly happy. And even Chat Noir. If he can get over his crush on me, it would be better for all of us.”

“And if Chat Noir and Amelie get together, then both of your problems are solved, aren’t they?” Tikki said, hopefully.

“Yeah, they are,” Marinette said, closing her eyes. Why did she feel so hesitant? She didn’t like Chat Noir that way, he was just a friend. And besides, he liked Ladybug, not Marinette, so why should she care if Chat Noir and Amelie got together?

She didn’t, Marinette told herself. She didn’t care. 

“I’m gonna get out of bed,” Marinette told herself. 

“Let’s go, Marinette!” Tikki smiled. This was much better. Marinette shouldn’t be moping like this, this was even worse than usual. 

Then Marinette’s phone vibrated again, and almost automatically, she clicked on the second link Alya had just sent her. This sent her to another tabloid of some dubious repute, and really? Marinette thought. She never knew Alya read these things. 

Then the headline loaded.

“BLONDE-MAGNET? CHAT NOIR SPOTTED IN SAME FLOWER SHOP AS ADRIEN AGRESTE.”

The photograph loaded. And through the glass doors of the florist, Chat Noir and Amelie sat right next to each other. Like, right next to each other, no gaps. Amelie leaned into Chat Noir, and the photographer had caught her looking up at Chat Noir, smiling, her chin on his shoulder. 

Breathe, Marinette told herself. Don’t get worked up, why get worked up? 

**who is this girl? both adrien and chat noir in one day like what?**

Marinette tried to keep a straight face. She messaged back

um she actually lives one block down from me

**excuse me? what?**

she’s nice. 

**you know her?**

not really she comes into the shop for croissants and I’ve chatted to her before.

**girl you need to go in and warn her off your man**

alya! she’s nice!

**but if she’s trying to make moves on Adrien you better call me and we can go warn her off together**

maybe I’ll talk to her today.

**ughh. mari you like coffee right?**

yeah, why?

**there’s a nice little place just a few minutes’ walk from your house.**

now? alya, it’s saturday morning.

**exactly. girl, I can 100% GUARANTEE you hardly slept last night.**

no, it’s fine, alya. I mean, you can come over here.

**you’re coming to this location: Seb’s Coffee, literally five minutes, that’s what it says. 1030, mari.**

Marinette sighed. 

**also I invited Adrien and Nino and they’re going to meet us there.**

A startled squeak erupted from her lips. Alya, she’d invited Adrien to meet them at a cute little cafe, where they could sit, and chat, and have a coffee, and look over at each other, while a live band played softly in the background. And she was telling the truth, wasn't she? Amelie was nice. She wasn't like Chloe, or Lila. But this was a chance!

Marinette slid out of bed, and she pulled her cupboard open. Well, couldn’t go wrong with the usual, right? Her entire outfit screamed “art girl” anyway, which seemed perfect for a cafe. 

And maybe if she leaned in…

Just try, Marinette, she told herself. Adrien isn’t Amelie’s boyfriend yet, they’ve only met once! Just try. “Maybe Alya’s right,” Marinette said aloud. “Maybe the coffeeshop was a good idea.”

“Let’s do it, Marinette!” Tikki cheered. “Okay,” Marinette said, tying her hair into the usual pigtails. 

“Let’s go have a drink,” Marinette opened her purse, and Tikki flew into it. She hesitated for a second, her fingers hovering over her desk. Why not, she decided, picking up a sketchpad and a couple pencils. She’d wanted to draw something today, anyway.

“Bye Mom! Bye Dad! Heading out to meet Alya bye!”

The door slammed shut behind her. Tom Dupain continued to pull croissants out of the kitchen, and Sabine Cheng just sighed. 

“You know, maybe we should help her more with Adrien.”

Tom shook his head. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

\--

Adrien was a little early, the way he tried to do for every appointment he had, and when he stepped out of the car, he checked his watch. Five minutes early, just as planned. At 10:25, when Marinette was walking slowly towards the cafe, her fingers flexing over her sketchbook, Adrien entered the cafe.

It was a low-key, stylish affair, with half its seats filled already, and maybe 30 people could find seats in this relatively small cafe. The walls were made to look like bricks, the chairs and tables simplistic, the counter to his right looked like sleek wood, and the smell of coffee permeated the air. 

There was a low murmur of conversation, and floating along in the air was music. Adrien perked his head up. In a corner of the cafe was a little stage, and sitting at a standing piano, a boy around his age was playing, his fingers drifting lightly over the keys. A mic stood lonely in the middle of the stage, and a drum kit sat unoccupied beside it.

Adrien picked a table, and he sat down, looking at the pianist. The pianist was working his way through some slow jazz piano, and, Adrien reflected, he was putting flourishes around the melody beautifully.

If he’d had one regret, it was that he’d never tried out jazz. His father had been insistent on making sure that he was trained classically, hiring tutors from all over to teach Adrien the wonders of classical music. He was good at it, and he did enjoy listening and playing Bach, Tchaikovsky, and Chopin. 

But as he sat there, and watched that pianist, eyes closed, feel his way through a piano solo that felt like every note was meant to be there, Adrien felt a little envious. 

Why can’t I do that? Adrien thought. He’d listened to jazz before, thinking it simple. If someone just passed him the scores, he’d be able to do it. Then he’d asked his tutor about it, one day.

Adrien could play passable lounge jazz, but he didn’t have that raw imagination and feel which people like this pianist had. They used piano structures he could play: staccato, chords, sevenths, the blues scale, triads. But then they put it all together, and it sounded as though night had fallen over a quiet Paris, and he and the music was all that was left.

He could never remember making a feeling like that appear from nowhere. 

Then the doors swung open, and in came the others. Alya, looking around surreptitiously, scanning for something...or someone. Nino, looking confused. And Marinette, chatting with Alya. She laughed, and it was like a clear bell, Adrien thought. 

He waved to them, and he noticed Marinette give a shy wave back. Adrien smiled as his friends took their seats next to him around the table. 

“Hey guys,” Adrien said, nodding towards the counter. “Nice place you picked out, Alya.”

Alya shook her head. “Oh, well, some of the readers of the Ladyblog suggested it, so I figured, why not?”

Nino looked mystified by the pianist. “Dude, what is he playing?”

Adrien chuckled. “Jazz, Nino.”

“No, I knew that. What song is he playing?”

Adrien tilted his head to listen. There had been a melody the pianist had been using, but not anymore. There was emotion in this part, too. But again, that surety of placement, but Adrien somehow knew. 

“Well, he’s soloing now. Improvising, I’d guess.”

Nino raised an eyebrow. “This is by feel? No rehearsal?”

Adrien shook his head. “I doubt it. I think this is on the spot. He’s been tinkering with the patterns for a while, but now he’s not using the other melody.”

“Man, I might need to look into jazz,” Nino muttered, his headphones still sitting around his ears. Electronic music would always be Nino’s thing, like classical was Adrien’s, but jazz was jazz. He’d hoped Nino would enjoy it.

“So, are we getting coffee?” Alya asked. “I’ve heard great things about this place.”

“It looks...nice,” Marinette whispered, casting her eyes around appreciatively. “The designer...got this aesthetic totally right.”

“Sure feels that way,” Adrien agreed. “Although I’ll defer to your art skills, Marinette.”

Marinette, for once, smiled back. Adrien was taken aback for a couple moments by her eyes. Usually they were fixed on the floor, or staring fixedly, but now they were a little steadier, although red-rimmed, a little. 

It looked nice. 

“Thanks, Adrien,” Marinette said, smiling a little smile of her own.

The pianist was picking up the pace a little, throwing in one beat rests in between some really great sounding riffs. The riff got quicker and a little more complicated after a couple rests, and then it tailed off to a series of notes rising in pitch, before he brought it back down with a gentle chord. 

There was the squeak of a chair as he stood, giving the people in the cafe a short bow. Then he ducked behind a curtain at the back of the small stage. Adrien suddenly realised why the cafe had seemed a little off to him. The curtain seemed to indicate that the wall suddenly jutted forwards, which made no sense. There was a backstage, then, a small one, for musicians. 

The last of the polite applause faded, and Adrien looked up at the menu to have a look at their coffee selection. 

One of the baristas stepped onstage and spoke into the mic.

“Alright, and that was Ali Frieden, everyone, with his own jazz repertoire. It’s his first time performing here, so thank you for being supportive. And now, our Saturday regulars will be on to give us a little concert we all love, here at Seb’s. Let’s welcome Bluelight!”

There was some polite applause, as three girls came from behind the curtain. Two of them brought bar stools, and plugged in amplifiers. A bassist, a guitarist, and a drummer. Adrien turned back to the coffee selection. 

“What type do you prefer, Marinette?” he asked her, as Alya and Nino walked forwards to talk to the barista. 

“Well, usually I just take my coffee with some honey and sugar,” she replied, sounding sheepish. “I-I don’t do a lot of fancy coffee. Not that I’m calling you a fancy guy, well, not really, but-” Marinette took in a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Adrien smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t you just go over there and get you and me whatever looks good to you?”

Marinette’s lips twitched upwards. “Sure. I hope you like it.”

“I trust your choices, Marinette,” Adrien said. He watched Marinette’s pigtails swing as she walked to the barista. 

Then, the music started. Light, simple, a beautiful little intro. That pianist’s good, Adrien thought, at making it sound so much with so little. Hang on, Adrien thought. But there wasn’t a pianist that he’d seen just now.

And then a low, honey-smooth voice began to sing. 

“ _ April in Paris. _ ”

Soulful and pure.

“ _ Chestnuts in blossom. _ ”

That really did sound lovely, Adrien thought, and he turned his head to look at the band playing on stage.

“ _ Holiday tables, under the trees. _ ”

There, playing the piano, and singing into a repositioned microphone, her eyes closed, was Amelie. 

“ _ April in Paris, _ ” 

“ _ This is a feeling, no one can ever, reprise. _ ”

Her range was on display, as she went higher on the final word of that line. Amelie opened her eyes as she took a breath, and as she scanned the cafe her eyes fell onto Adrien and she smiled.

\--

Marinette tried to swallow her shock. Surely this was a dream. After the previous day, she’d told herself that she was going to embrace her confidence with Adrien, now that it seemed unlikely that she had a chance. She’d been able to talk mostly confidently, and entertained notions of what her newfound courage could give her. 

Not anymore, though, as that velvety voice, gliding smoothly from low to high, came in from the stage, and Marinette had turned to see Amelie. 

“ _ I never knew the charm of spring, I never met it face to face, I never knew my heart could sing- _ ”

And she was looking straight at Adrien, Marinette realised with a jolt of alarm, her fingers gliding gracefully along the keys, her blonde hair up in an elegant updo. Adrien had spoken with such admiration of that jazz pianist, and it gave Marinette little joy that she could recognise Amelie’s playing as jazz piano as well.

With a sinking heart, and a working brain, she turned to stare at Alya, who was looking dreamily at Nino while Amelie sang. 

“ _ I never missed a warm embrace, _ ”

Alya noticed Marinette’s stare quickly, and shrugged helplessly. Alya turned to survey the rest of the cafe. So she had done this on purpose, Marinette realised. Alya had found out about Amelie’s jazz gigs, and brought them here...to what? Warn her off?

Alya’s gaze turned defeated all of a sudden, and Marinette spun to look at Adrien. He was staring intently back, and in the half-darkness it could’ve been anywhere from the floor, to the piano, to the curtain, but Marinette was quite certain of it. 

“ _ Till April in Paris, _ ”

And Amelie was definitely looking in Adrien’s direction, too.

“ _ Whom can I run to, _ ”

Marinette saw Amelie smile to herself, and Amelie leaned forward to the mic, her eyes suddenly turning to meet Marinette’s from across the room as she sang the last line, making sure to linger on the final words with that honey-smooth, lightly floating voice.

“ _ What have you done, to my heart. _ ” 

And with a little flourish, the song ended. The customers all applauded, this time with a little more energy than before. Amelie smiled, and looked over at her band. She gestured to her band, and spoke into the microphone. As she did, her fingers began a lively jazz riff on the piano, a pretty little thing that was at once lively and understated. 

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, we are Bluelight. I am Amelie Delacroix, here to play some piano and sing a little. There sit my friends. Gabriella Giverne, on the bass. We have Hannah Novreau, on guitar, and lastly Audrey Mitte on the drums.”

The rest of the band smiled and nodded, and one by one, added their instruments to Amelie’s jazz riff. 

“We have some good songs coming up for you. Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, and Josette Dayde on the way, and we hope you enjoy.”

Amelie gave the whole room a bright smile that seemed directed at one boy, and began to sing. 

“ _ Fly me to the moon... _ ”

Thus began a rather depressing hour, for Marinette, at least. Jazz music spanned a whole range of emotions, but Marinette’s mind stayed down in the minor key for that long, long hour. 

Amelie sang, played soloes, and had a few friendly back-and-forth conversations with the rest of her band while they played. 

Her fingers seemed to dance across the keys effortlessly, and her voice filled the room wonderfully. Marinette snuck glances at Adrien, who seemed mesmerised by the performance, only murmuring a quick “thank you,” to Marinette when she’d arrived with the coffee. 

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she saw that Nino, too, was watching enraptured. “I need a recording,” Nino muttered, pulling out his phone. Even Alya seemed engrossed, until Marinette threw a light elbow at her.

“Hmm?” Alya said, tearing her eyes from the band.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Marinette hissed.

“If I did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Then why are we even here? This is hardly helping.”

Alya put a patient hand on Marinette’s. “We needed to know more about her if we’re going to be able to warn her off without looking like total strangers yelling. Plus, it’s good music.”

With that, Marinette couldn’t argue. So she sat back, and told herself to enjoy the music. Maybe she was just overreacting. It wasn’t as though Adrien was the only one paying close attention. Some of the boys...and quite a few girls were paying attention to Amelie in particular. 

Adrien played piano, Marinette told herself. He could be interested in the way she’s playing. 

That was it, Marinette tried to tell herself. 

But even when Amelie and her band launched into the upbeat  _ New York, New York _ , Marinette still felt more like  _ April in Paris _ . 

Adrien’s focus did switch, as the band’s focus changed. Adrien turned to focus on the brunette with the bob cut on the guitar when she began lead vocals on  _ Tout en baissant les yeux _ and when the redhead on the drums started a drum solo for  _ Caravan _ . All the band members, Marinette thought, were all pretty. 

Pretty and talented, but Adrien’s eyes kept going back to their leader, as Amelie led the band through the majority of the songs. Marinette had finished her coffee quickly, but Adrien seemed to be enjoying his slowly, watching the band. 

Marinette tried not to be too jumpy, and she fiddled with her pencils and her sketchbook, focusing on a sketch of the band playing. She found herself taking an inordinate amount of time focusing on capturing Amelie’s features. 

Amelie did a solo piece, her band members simply watching a soulful rendition of  _ Summertime _ . Then they wrapped it up with a beautiful rendition of the classic  _ La Vie En Rose _ , capturing all their attention with harmonies and a light, floating finish. 

Applause erupted from the customers, who were now fully filling the cafe. Amelie and her band members stood and bowed. 

“Thank you, thank you!” Amelie bowed again. Marinette realised suddenly that Amelie was in a stylish red dress, and she snuck a look at Adrien, who was looking right at her. 

The dress fit in all the right way, and as she walked offstage, behind the curtain, many boys seemed to be following the sway of her hips. Marinette found herself unconsciously following it, too. 

Marinette slumped back into her seat. 

“Great choice, Alya!” Adrien said cheerfully. “Uh, yeah,” Nino agreed, stopping the recording on his phone. “Good music, good coffee.”

Adrien finished his coffee. 

There was a mutter, as Amelie appeared back from behind the curtain. She’d changed back into a simple shirt and jeans, and she and her band walked over towards them.

“Marinette!” Amelie smiled. “How nice to see you here! You too, Blondie.” She tossed at Adrien.

“I’m Alya,” she stood and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you...”

“Oh!” Amelie laughed. “Amelie. These are my bandmates, Gabrielle, Hannah, and Audrey.”

“I hope you all enjoyed the show,” Amelie said.

“Yeah, dude, that was really good,” Nino replied.

“I thought it was fantastic,” Adrien said, smiling.

“Well, Blondie, when you’re sitting at a flower shop, you need some jazz to keep yourself entertained,” Amelie responded. 

“I’d love to hear more someday, Flower Girl,” Adrien said.

“We do change up our sets, so come back next week then.” Amelie said. “What’s that, Marinette?” Amelie leaned over to look at her sketchbook. She let out a gasp. “That looks amazing, Marinette!”

Blushing furiously, Marinette turned her sketchbook to show it to the band, who let out appreciative coos. 

“You caught the bass positioning right,” Hannah noted. “And you really did catch Amelie’s good side,” Gabrielle tilted her head to look at her leader.

“Why, thank you,” Amelie said, faux-swooning.

“Oh, Adrien? You might want to pop by soon, if you ever want to get your flowers. If anyone wants flowers, well, you know where to go,” Amelie winked at them, slipping Adrien a note.

“We have to go now,” Amelie said apologetically, “we have another slot on the other side of Paris.” With a chorus of goodbyes, Amelie and her band left the cafe. Marinette slumped back into her seat again, trying not to feel the pity in Alya’s gaze. If Adrien did like flowers, Marinette mused, maybe it was time she got some for him.

\--

There had been considerably more business on the afternoon shift than usual, Amelie reflected later that day. A lot more girls coming in, shooting in either jealous or longing looks at her. 

She tried to ignore it. Probably better that way, anyway. Most of the girls had bought flowers, though, at her urging. So there was that. Adrien had quickly used the number she’d given him, and they’d met quietly in the back of the shop, hopefully before any fangirls or paparazzi had caught on. 

Adrien had chosen some bluebells and a fleur de lis on Amelie’s urging. Blue, pink, and a touch of red, Amelie decided. She was already beginning a similar bouquet for Chat Noir, except she’d included some pink-tinged anemones.

Adrien hadn’t shared too much about the mystery girl, but he seemed confident enough in his choice of flowers, although leaving the set-up to her.

That had been an hour ago, and Amelie was still toying with some set-up ideas. But she could barely sketch, and growled at her colour pencils as she attempted to come up with a blueprint for the bouquet. 

A thought occurred to her. Marinette. She was good with sketching, and colouring, presumably. Maybe she could enlist her help…

But, Amelie felt reasonably sure, the bouquet wasn’t for her. It would only break her heart if she had to help design a bouquet for the boy she liked to give to someone else. Amelie was starting to get concerned about Marinette. 

Specifically, Amelie was rightfully worrying that Marinette might start thinking that her and Adrien were actually a thing. 

Although she would admit it was nice to have held Adrien’s attention while in that slinky red dress earlier today. Back to Marinette, Amelie chided herself. If only Marinette came in to get flowers for Adrien. That would help her solve a lot of problems. 

Her next customer, while hardly a problem, promised a suddenly more complicated day for Amelie. The door swung open gently, and Amelie’s greeting died on her lips as she looked up.

“I’ve heard this is a great place for flowers,” Ladybug said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, this just keeps getting longer and longer! I'm a pianist myself, so hopefully I didn't bore you guys too much with the jazz scenes. Okay I think I'm certain where the final chapter will go, because I do want to skip some of the stuff that I can't fully write. Hope you guys are having a good time. I swear I thought this was a oneshot.


	3. would you get them if i did?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelie and Ladybug decide to have a nice talk; Adrien contemplates staring and the merits of jazz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my, roses in my hand?  
> would you get them if I did?
> 
> \- John Mayer
> 
> Also I'm so sorry for such a huge gap between chapters, this one grew so large and out of control that I spent time debating whether to split it in 2 or not. I have, so expect the next one up soon.

Marinette took a little pride in watching Amelie’s mouth drop open. She stepped forward, that confident spring in her step feeling satisfying and powerful. She hadn’t gone out as Ladybug like this in a while, and she questioned why she never did.

Just to remember how it felt like. 

“Ladybug!” Amelie recovered quickly. “So good to see you around. Welcome to my humble florist. Do you see anything you like?”

Marinette glanced around the store. Her mind whirred at the variety of possible colour combinations, scanning the number of hues and shapes. This place did look really beautiful. She turned her head back to see Amelie watching her closely. 

“Maybe,” Marinette said, tilting her head to look around. She stepped closer to where Amelie stood at the counter. “I’m browsing today. But things here do look nice.”

“It’s like my shop is now superhero central,” Amelie laughed a little. “Chat Noir stopped by last night, although much less gracefully than you did.”

“Did he fall off a roof?” Marinette said innocently.

“Oh yes,” Amelie said, smirking. “He did land on his feet, I have to give him that.”

“As expected, then,” Marinette said. She let a hand trail along the base of a flowerpot to her right. This was much better, Marinette thought, than going as Marinette. Amelie would probably see right through her and deduce her crush on Adrien. But as Ladybug, Marinette felt almost invincible.

Then, her eyes fell on a vase sitting beside Amelie on the counter. Inside it were a pair of beautiful pink roses. Around it were several other flowers, blue, pink-tinged white, violet. She didn’t know all their names, but she wanted to pick them up, line them up, and sketch them, colour them in. 

And the vase. Plain, white ceramic. Nothing special. Or was there? Marinette tried to step closer.

“Got your eyes on a special someone, Ladybug?” Amelie asked. “Or does someone special have their eyes on flowers?”

Marinette felt a blush try to form on her cheeks, and her lips parted hesitantly, as her voice became stuck in her throat. She stole another glance at those roses. 

“Of course, Ladybug. Just so you know, discretion is a specialty for us florists.” Amelie threw Marinette a wink, and lowered her voice. “We could have a discussion somewhere more private if we have to.”

Amelie leaned over the counter gracefully, stopping herself, face to face with Marinette, their noses almost touching. 

Marinette tried to swallow, as Amelie’s playful blue eyes filled her vision. She was definitely blushing now, and there was no way that her mask covered that up. “Uhh. I-um, well, actually...”

“I’ve had some strange customers before, and there’ve always been girls who don’t really know whose flowers they want,” Amelie observed. Her eyes were so sharp, Marinette thought, that all her Ladybug bravado was sliced easily in half.

“So, I see you’ve got your own red and black colour scheme,” Amelie said, her words spoken softly, as they held their positions almost nose to nose. “If someone gave you white flowers, what would you think?”

“Uhh.” Marinette was having trouble thinking of anything as Amelie seemed to stare down into her soul with those pretty blue eyes. 

“Well, I’m just here to browse,” Marinette said, blinking. Focus! She told herself. You’re Ladybug, saviour of Paris!

“Where did you hear about my place?” Amelie said, tilting her head curiously. 

“Oh,” Marinette said airily, “around. Apparently you’ve trended briefly.” This was true, and Marinette had been there to check it, when the day before the hashtag #adriensflowers had trended on Twitter. 

“Have I?” Amelie’s eyes widened innocently, as she fiddled with the vase, turning it back and forth, as Marinette’s eyes caught onto what seemed to be a slightly off-colour line down one side of the vase. 

“Oh yes,” Marinette said, “Apparently my partner checked in here. I wonder if he bought anything from you.”

“Chat Noir?” Amelie’s lips pouted puzzledly. 

“Oh yes, he did fall from the sky yesterday, but unfortunately he didn’t buy anything from me. Hopefully you can change that.”

Marinette shook her head. “Maybe I’m just here for tips.”

“On flowers?” Amelie asked.

“Well,” Marinette admitted, “It says on the sign that you do arrangements. Art is...important to me.”

“Well, most of what your partner did was flirt, unfortunately,” Amelie sighed wryly. “I suppose it’s a thing all cute blondes have to do now.” She smiled lightly. 

The door swung open behind her, and a young man their age stepped quickly towards the counter. “Mind if I take this?” Amelie asked. “Won’t be a minute.”

She stepped out from behind the counter, and the man broke into a strained smile.

“Amelie! I was hoping to catch you here. Listen, what you said about the bluebells earlier...” Amelie guided him over to a section of white anemones, talking in low, reassuring tones. 

Marinette stepped closer to the desk, finding it littered with discarded notepaper, filled with sketches that...Marinette winced. She had been thinking, finally, something she’s not good at, when she caught a glimpse of her gloved hand. Superhero, Marinette! She reminded herself. Not a petty teen. 

Still, her initial observation stood. The general gist of it could be caught, but no specifics. 

Her fingers itched to draw at that moment. 

Marinette slowly reached over towards the vase, turning it slowly towards her. She was so intent on it that she didn’t hear the sound of profound thank-yous behind her as the young man ran out of the store holding three anemones with blue and violet centres, twisted together quickly into a minimalist bouquet.

Marinette didn’t know this, of course, but this young man’s flowers would appeal to his girlfriend rather powerfully, and she would place it in her room, an energetic, messy place, a single moment of tranquility and calm. 

Marinette didn’t know that because, except for a brush-past on the metro once, she never saw him again. What she also didn’t know, was that Amelie had been looking over her shoulder ever since then.

“I know, they’re bad,” Marinette placed the paper down gently, willing herself to be calm. “No, they’re not too bad,” she said, turning around, only to realise that Amelie had been so close that once again all Marinette could see were light blue, teasing eyes.

Finally, Amelie’s lips spread into a grin, and she broke eye contact, taking Marinette’s hand and leading the dazed girl into the back room in a single, fluid motion. Now, Marinette found herself surrounded with even more flowers, arranged neatly by colour. 

Oh my, Marinette thought.

“New shipment came in from a farm in the South, near Nice. Lilies, rosemary, iris.” Amelie whispered into Marinette’s ear. Her blonde ponytail brushed over Marinette’s neck in the cramped space. 

“They look amazing,” Marinette whispered. “Like a little garden.”

“Well, Ladybug? Do you want to buy some flowers?” Marinette tried to tear her gaze from the wall of colours, her head swimming with ideas. And those roses. She wanted them, really wanted them. She didn’t know why. 

“Maybe next time,” Marinette choked out. Not yet, Marinette thought. But maybe she could. At least, she wanted to. There was a sound of wood on concrete, and Marinette turned to see two wooden stools at the back of the room. Amelie sat on one. She gestured to the second one.

“Let’s see if I can change your mind.”

Marinette stood there hesitantly. “Come on,” Amelie encouraged.

“Okay,” Marinette said, sitting next to Amelie. 

“My name’s Amelie,”Amelie said, turning to Marinette, “Though I don’t expect you to tell me your name.”

“Were those roses...” Marinette said hesitantly. 

“Ah,” Amelie widened her eyes in understanding. “Those are...reserved. A kind blonde gentleman has engaged my services to create a bouquet for him. He picked those out specifically. I’m afraid the next shipment of those won’t arrive for another week.”

“Well, that’s-that’s fine,” Marinette said, keeping her head up and her shoulders straight. Ladybug didn’t cry over flowers.

Ladybug didn’t think about which blonde gentleman could’ve gotten Amelie to make a bouquet for him. Marinette did, however, somewhere in the back of her head, comparing internal notes. 

It could’ve been Chat Noir, she told herself, and maybe she would get those flowers. But she couldn’t take them. Chat Noir might get the wrong impression. 

It wasn’t like he was starting to grow on her romantically, right?

She liked Adrien. Didn’t she?

“Tell me about him,” Amelie said softly.

“I don’t know,” Marinette muttered, looking down at her hands. This wasn’t quite going as she imagined it, but she never had a chance, before to fully verbalise the things she wanted to say, especially now. 

Because she realised that Chat Noir had probably sat there in this chair and talked to her, too. And that bothered her, in a way that she couldn’t quite place. Well, she did know, or at least she suspected, but she didn’t want to say it. Not to anyone else.

But maybe she would know.

“Just a girls’ talk, Ladybug. And by the end of it you’ll be getting the best flowers I can think of,” Amelie said, sincerely. 

Amelie placed her hand on hers, warm, nimble fingers. She looked up, blue eyes into blue eyes, and Marinette found herself staring again, into honest eyes. Maybe she should. Amelie hadn’t tried to use her newfound fame in any way, she’d caught Adrien and Chat Noir’s eyes, and if there was one thing Marinette trusted the both of them for was to judge character.

“Did you try this with Chat Noir, too?” Marinette’s mouth seemed to move of it’s own accord. Amelie smiled again, pulling her hair out of it’s ponytail and letting blonde waves flow down her shoulders.

“Like I said, florists are good with secrets,” Amelie said, her voice playful. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” But her cheeks were ever so slightly flushed, and Marinette had a quick flashback to the night before. 

Chat Noir whispering into her ear. A jolt in her heart, again. Had Amelie sat through a session of Chat Noir fawning over Ladybug? With that look? Amelie was a better person than Marinette had given her credit for.

“Flowers can do anything. And who knows? Maybe you can end up with more flowers than you know what to do with.” Amelie shrugged. “In fact-”

Amelie turned and pulled a plastic box from under the racks of flowers. The warm light of the sunlamps made her blonde hair glow. Marinette found herself leaning in towards Amelie. Something about her was just...magnetic.

“Ladybug, here.” Amelie placed a pencil and a pad of paper into her hands, sitting back up. “Why don’t you write down any flower that comes to you as special, or draw it, and from there we can talk. You don’t need to tell me specifics, just show me.”

Marinette’s fingers closed comfortably over the pencil. “Show you?”

Amelie blew out a breath. “I’ve had a lot of girls come in here, recently. Not entirely sure why.”

Adrien, Marinette thought. 

“When I do talk to them, eventually they realise, the braver ones, that they want to give flowers to the boy they like. Some of them, well, they just realise how much flowers can mean.” 

“You seem brave enough for both,” Amelie said, giving Marinette a wink. 

“You could be out there, looking over Paris, trying to patrol, but your heart brought you here. I don’t think it was for the purest reasons,” the blonde cast an admonishing look at Marinette, who found herself squirming in her seat. “But I think the right things sometimes happen for the wrong reasons.” 

“Well,” Marinette began, “I suppose I could...”

“Give me a moment,” Amelie whispered into Marinette’s ear suddenly, sending a shiver down Marinette’s spine. She rose and stepped out into the shop. Some cheerful exchanges, and then the door swung closed. 

“Alright,” Amelie breathed, reappearing at the door to the back room. “We’ll be alone. Flowers have meanings, words, but I think that sometimes people like you prefer to just...look and see everything at once.”

“How do you do it?” Marinette found herself asking, boldly. “Do you have...powers?”

Amelie let out a light laugh.

“Sometimes I do impress even myself,” she preened, “but no, I don’t think so. I like to think I’m just well-versed in subtleties.”

Almost unconsciously, Marinette found herself sketching the entire landscape, the people inside and outside, the flowers, placing extra emphasis on certain things that just...popped out at her.

“This-you have a good eye for colours.”

“Couldn’t be making bouquets if I didn’t,” Amelie said wryly. 

Marinette stood and paced for a couple seconds. 

“Can I tell you what I tell only the most special of my customers?” Amelie asked, tilting her head. She was nearly Adrien’s height, and as she bent slightly to whisper into her ear, Marinette caught a whiff of flowers. 

Then she registered what Amelie had said, and released a slightly undignified squeak. 

“Oh, they all do that,” Amelie said, leaning away. “Just take your time. We can talk all you want.” 

“Okay,” Marinette said faintly, as she settled down onto the chair. “Okay.”

\--

It may not have made the news, but it made the Ladyblog, which triggered a little alert on Adrien’s phone. Normally he wouldn’t have heard it over Chopin, but today Adrien was trying something a little different. 

Running up and down the blues scale felt jazzy, but nothing more. He was sitting there flexing his fingers when he saw his phone light up.

Opening the Ladyblog, Adrien saw the picture load onto his screen, and instantly dropped his phone in panic.

“Oh shit!” Adrien ducked to catch his phone, and slammed his head into the side of the piano. “Ow!”

He brought his head back up and looked at the picture again. No mistaking it. Ladybug, her profile turned to the cameraman outside the store, chatting with a familiar blonde-haired, blue-eyed, jazz-playing florist. 

“Oh no,” Adrien muttered. “No, no, no, no.”

This had the potential to be disastrous. Ladybug could ruin her entire surprise by going into the florist’s and...no, that was bad. If Amelie let slip about her talks with him, then, oh man, things would be bad. 

He couldn’t stand the thought of Ladybug getting fed his thoughts secondhand, or that she might, oh man. What if she expected another type of flowers, now that she’d seen the rest of the flowers?

What if when he gave the flowers, she preferred other ones?

Plagg was in the empty kitchen, eating Camembert again. He really was insatiable. Adrien tried to keep his mind off the thought of two pretty girls sitting together, and Amelie warning Ladybug of his massively strange obsession with her. 

But Amelie wouldn’t do that.

That thought brought his mind to a halt. She wouldn’t. Adrien approached that thought in his mind. Yes, he was sure. Amelie wouldn’t jeopardise anything, and the more Adrien thought about it, the surer he was. It was hard to exactly explain why, but Adrien trusted Amelie. And so he breathed, and let his heart slow down.

Besides, there was always a gap between the moment the picture was taken and the time it was uploaded. For all Adrien knew, Ladybug was already gone. But maybe just to be sure.

Adrien scrolled through his contacts, to where he had saved Amelie’s number as “Flower Girl”. He clicked it, and the phone began to ring. Adrien held it to his ear, and waited. He would have to keep waiting, because right then, Amelie and Ladybug were sitting together upstairs in Amelie’s room, poring over sketches and flower samples, while, hidden at one corner of the balcony, was the tentative bouquet for Chat Noir. 

Of course, Adrien knew none of this, and eventually it went to a dial tone. 

“ _Hi! You’ve reached Amelie Delacroix, flower princess and jazz pianist. Leave a message!_ ”

His heart jumped a little in surprise. Flower Princess?

“Hey, it’s Adrien.” Very clever, he told himself. Say something more! “I was wondering if you could teach me jazz someday? I’d like an update on my...consultations with you.”

Was that okay? It had to be, Adrien thought. 

There could be many reasons why Amelie hadn’t picked up, but still. He recalled a snippet of the conversation he’d had with her the previous night. 

“What do you do, anyway?” he’d asked, gesturing around. “When there’s no one around?”

Amelie had just grinned and beckoned him over to the counter. “Careful, Chat Noir, there might be thieves lurking.”

Then she’d shown him her computer and her earphones on a little shelf under the main counter. “Homework, mostly,” she explained, “but also, music, YouTube, and a chance to catch up on all the TV I miss. And I always keep my phone handy. In case something fancy happens and I need to prepare for a flower raid.”

“A flower raid?” Adrien had asked, his tail flicking confused behind him.

Amelie shrugged. “Everytime a big band stops nearby, there’s always a bunch of fans showing up to snag flowers. So I try to keep a general sense of concerts and special events. Also Valentine’s Day.”

So why hadn’t she picked up? Adrien nearly growled in frustration. He needed to do something while he waited for Amelie to call back. Thinking quickly, he texted Nino.

**hey nino can you send me that video of the jazz band?**

uhh yeah give me a sec

**_Video Received_ **

**_Video Received_ **

**_Video Received_ **

what a performance huh

**oh yeah.**

oh man the music was so good

I gotta listen to more jazz, man

**actually I’m trying to play jazz now, that’s why I wanted the video**

uh huh, that’s all?

**what?**

dude you and that girl pianist were def flirting

**what?**

don’t what me, Adrien

I mean she’s hot, and a sweet-ass performer

**wait hold on**

and that dress?

also dude the staredown is pretty obvious 

Adrien tried to wrap his head around what Nino was insinuating. Sure he had noticed Amelie in a red dress -who wouldn’t?- but he didn’t think of her _that_ way. It was more of the way someone considered a movie star handsome or pretty, but that didn’t mean much. Adrien struggled for a second to think of a proper comparison. 

**no come on man**

**I mean**

**yeah she’s really cute**

**but it’s not like we have a thing**

just from my pov it looked pretty serious

also

second vid 03:45

Adrien clicked on the second video, which was Amelie performing solo, just her voice singing _Summertime_ and her fingers moving over the keys. He scrubbed through with his index finger to the timestamp that Nino had sent him.

Then he clicked play. 

“ _One of these mornings_ ” Amelie cooed into the microphone, “ _You’re gonna rise up singing,_ ” and she was looking straight at Adrien, no mistake, seemingly not needing to concentrate on her performance.

And, Adrien realised, he was leaning forwards in his seat ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on hers. Adrien let his mouth drop in horror as he watched himself lick his lips for a second. I was just thirsty! Adrien thought indignantly. But that had seemed like a chemistry-filled staredown, like a scene from one of those romance movies Nino pretended to hate.

“ _Then you’ll spread your wings,_ ” Amelie continued, those blue eyes again seemingly fixed on Adrien. Nino seemed to tilt his phone slightly towards Adrien’s face.

“ _And you’ll take to the sky..._ ”

Adrien peered at his face in the half-darkness of the cafe lighting. He looked enraptured. It had, Adrien realised, been his first live performance of that caliber that had not been classical music. 

So of course he was gonna be a little enraptured. It didn’t help, Adrien supposed, that his first ever exposure to a performance like that was being performed by a girl who, by any standards, was really pretty, and playing good music, which, as most boys know, makes most girls even more attractive. 

**it’s more appreciation of her skill, Nino.**

are you sure that’s all you were appreciating?

**man, come on.**

fine, fine

just, as long as you’re not lying to me, dude

she’s not out of your league if that’s what you’re worrying about

**well thanks for recording it anyway**

**time to try some jazz**

if you get a really good riff send it over 

wanna tinker a little with jazz

Adrien placed his phone on the score stand on the grand piano, flexing his fingers. He’d already warmed up with some scales, and Adrien decided to try out some basic jazz patterns first, before he listened to Amelie’s performances again. 

Footsteps, from the outside of the room. They were clipped, accurate, and they stopped for a couple seconds outside the door. Adrien’s fingers stilled. What did his father even think of jazz?

The door opened, and Gabriel Agreste, tall, thin, slipped into the room.

“Continue,” he said softly.

Adrien hesitantly reached out and pressed play on the video.

“ _Summertime,_ ” she sang, “ _and the living is easy_ ”

Adrien listened to the chord progression, and hesitantly, began to play along, creating a second semi-improvised piano accompaniment. 

During Amelie’s solo, Adrien accompanied it with chords, and the occasional little riff in between, when it...felt right.

His father’s presence felt natural. He didn;’t feel like he had to impress him, just play, and let his feelings flow, and the solo sharpened in his mind. Melancholy, absence, forgetting, summer and spring.

“ _Fish are jumpin'. And the cotton is high,_ ”

Adrien simply played, the tinny sound from his phone’s speakers only heard by Adrien himself, to the other listener mostly drowned out by Adrien’s playing.

“ _But until that morning_ ,” Amelie sang, “ _t_ _here's a'nothing can harm you,”_

 _“With daddy and mamma standing by,_ ” 

Adrien followed her lyrics with some quick right-hand work, walking his left hand up and down.

“ _Summertime,_ ” she seemed to whisper through the phone. 

Adrien found himself lost, and even though the video stopped seconds later, he kept playing. He didn’t know, of course, but his mother had once played jazz for his father. “Not everything has to be planned out,” she’d laughed, putting a hand on Gabriel’s arm.

“Look, here,” she’d said, playing again, as Gabriel stood behind her, eyes closed, soaking in her presence and her music. 

Gabriel had a sudden urge to find the old records he knew were somewhere in the back of the house. He squashed this urge, quickly, and wrote a quick note on Adrien’s scoresheets of Chopin beside him before leaving.

If Adrien had managed to pull himself free of the music, he would’ve seen Gabriel Agreste let himself shed one tear. 

As it was, he only saw the note his father had written.

“ _Your mother would be proud. That girl sang almost as well as her. Give her my regards._ ”

Adrien sat back, his right hand suddenly twinging, the room empty.

His own eyes were welling with tears, because somehow, somewhere in the middle of it, he’d thought of his mother too. 

Music is a powerful thing. For those magical moments, flowers didn’t matter, his crush didn’t matter, even the safety of Paris and the responsibility he bore didn’t matter. Adrien and his father had been there, Adrien playing for the mother he barely remembered, Gabriel remembering her all too well.

It was a shame that the moment had to end, but it did. 

Adrien resolved to thank Amelie the next chance he got. He waited for night to fall, and then, alone in his room, Adrien whispered to Plagg.

“Claws Out!”

The familiar feeling of freedom and elegant destructive power filled him, and Adrien set out, determined to get this done. One night was over, tonight would be the second.

\--

“I really should go,” Ladybug said at last. Amelie tried to hide her disappointment, but still couldn’t completely quash a little note of pleading in her voice as she told Ladybug, “Yes, you probably should.”

They’d been sitting together for at least a couple hours, as the sun was beginning to set in the west. Amelie began to pick up the scattered pages, each one containing a sketch or colour which Ladybug had drawn onto the pages. They had moved up to her room, with Amelie closing the florists’ early.

Up there, Amelie had introduced Jacq to Ladybug, and was pleasantly surprised by her playful attitude towards Ladybug, who had laughed when Jacq attempted to jump onto her lap, and let the cat play with her yo-yo.

Now, Jacq sat on top of the piano, her tail twitching slightly, asleep, while Amelie straightened her notes and organised the pencils.

Ladybug was still sitting on the bed, biting her lips. 

“Are you sure this’ll work?”

“It’ll more than do for a start,” Amelie said, moving to sit beside Ladybug. “I’ve set many people up with bouquets, but I have to say, this might be the most I’ve ever done.” Amelie wasn’t lying, after all. It wasn’t often that both the boy and girl were oblivious of hidden feelings, and less often that both came to her store for flowers. 

It seemed something a lot like fate. 

Standing up to pace, Amelie went over to her desk, her fingers brushing the pink roses in that white vase which she’d brought upstairs. 

“I wish I could let you have this, but they are reserved.” Amelie thought for a while, considering her options. “I do have some good, old-fashioned bold red roses.” 

“A little cliched, maybe, but it’s a little hint that you don’t want to be subtle anymore.” Ladybug looked politely interested, but Amelie suspected that she caught a flicker of interest in her eyes. 

See, that was one of the problems with the mask. The eyes were all the more clearer for her to read. 

Amelie slung an arm around Ladybug, leaning her head onto her shoulder. “Hey, Ladybug. You’ve saved Paris dozens of times. You’re not going to let some fear about a boy stop you in your tracks, are you?”

Ladybug stiffened, and Amelie sighed. This heroine just didn’t really know how to relax, did she?

“Come on,” Amelie pleaded, “please?” She thought for a couple seconds, and a devious glint entered Amelie’s eyes. In as sugary a voice as she could, Amelie purred, “If you don’t relax, I might have to help you...”

Finally, Ladybug caught an inkling of what Amelie was planning. “Wait, what are you-”

Ladybug suddenly squeaked, her body shooting straight up, as Amelie brushed her fingers lightly up Ladybug’s sides.

“H-hey!” Ladybug protested, her eyes very wide and now very alert. 

“Told you,” Amelie said, “and anyway a moping Ladybug isn’t quite Ladybug.”

Amelie did it again, this time digging a little into Ladybug’s ribs, and Ladybug’s lithe frame shook with laughter. Her fingers spidered across Ladybug’s toned midsection.

“Okay! Okay!” Ladybug twisted free from Amelie’s nimble fingers, her cheeks flushed cutely. Amelie laughed. “Oh, have I found the weakness of our great hero?”

Ladybug turned and pouted cutely, “Hey, no one else-”

Amelie never got a chance to hear what Ladybug was going to say for two reasons. The first reason was because she’d snuck up behind Ladybug and squeezed her hips, forcing more frantic laughter from her.

The second reason opened one eye, then decided to open the other. She leapt off the piano and onto the piano bench, mewing at Amelie. Amelie cocked her head, then looked at the clock. 

“I swear that cat has psychic powers,” she said, shaking her head and letting her fingers fall away from Ladybug’s torso, making sure to leave with a little flourish that induced another yelp from the red-clad heroine. 

She stepped towards the piano, lifting the lid. “I set myself a time to go and play, and every single time, Jacq gets to the chair first.”

“You play piano?” Ladybug had a strange look on her face which Amelie decided to interpret as slight distaste, mixed with leftover laughter. 

That struck her a little. Why, Amelie wondered, would Ladybug have that kind of reaction? Looking a little closer, Amelie decided to reclassify the emotion in her face as longing, as well as melancholy.

Sometimes, Amelie mused, when you’re wearing an actual mask, your face tends to show more. It was the same with Chat Noir. When you didn’t have a real reputation to maintain, your face could relax, and you could afford to lower your facades.

Maybe I could write about it, she thought. Amelie sat down beside her cat, giving her a quick stroke, then turned to wink at Ladybug, flexing her fingers. Ladybug blushed again, her hands quickly moving instinctively to cover her sides. 

Sometimes skintight suits were a mistake, although not to Amelie. 

Amelie turned back to the piano. Let’s kick things off nicely with some nice jazz, she thought, her fingers still tingling from tickling the hell out of Ladybug. 

Her mind ran through her mental tracklist, before settling on a standard. Might have to change up the words, Amelie thought, as she began to play, running up the scale in between left-hand chords to get herself into the right zone.

Flicking her hair out of her eyes, Amelie began to sing.

“ _Paris...Paris...the whole way through,_ ” her fingers began to grab hold of the tune now, and she found herself slipping in improvised riffs in between the sparse left-hand chords.

“ _Just an old sweet song,_ ” she sang, her eyes unfocused, “ _keeps Paris on my mind..._ ”

Amelie snuck a look out at Ladybug, who was staring out the balcony over at Paris, swaying lightly to the music. 

“ _I said Paris,_ ” Amelie saw Ladybug close her eyes, “ _Paris...A song of you...Comes sweet and clear,_ ”

The song was one of longing, and Amelie thought she saw that clearly and starkly on Ladybug’s face, vulnerable and confused. Not so much an invulnerable superhero, but very much still human.

“ _As moonlight through the pines,_ ”

Ladybug stepped out and leaned on the railing of the balcony, and Amelie caught a glimpse of her hair fluttering in the wind. Amelie couldn’t find it in herself to think any further at that moment, because, well, music.

Music replaced thought for now. Her fingers ventured on their own, falling into old patterns of previous solos, and then striking out on their own, adding depth and unpredictability into the music.

“ _Other arms reach out to me; other eyes smile tenderly,_ ”

Her fingers were now regularly adding on to the main riff, almost unconsciously. Amelie raised her head slightly and closed her eyes. 

“ _Still in peaceful dreams I see,_ ” she sang, going as high as she dared.

“ _The road leads back to you,_ ” Ladybug stepped back into the room, placing a hand lightly on Amelie’s shoulder. Amelie tensed slightly at the feel of the hand.

“ _I said Paris, oh Paris,_ ”

“I’d love to hear more, but I have to go,” Ladybug whispered. Amelie noted on the edge of her concentration that her voice sounded like it was close to breaking. Amelie nodded, and continued. I’ll sing her out, Amelie thought, finding that comforting. Behind her, Ladybug looked out towards a setting sun.

There was the brief sound of Ladybug’s feet on the concrete balcony floor. 

“ _No peace I find,_ ”

Her fingers traced a harmony for herself. 

“ _Just an old, sweet song._ ”

Her fingers slowed as she prepared to end the song.

“ _Keeps Paris on my mind,_ ” Amelie sang the last lyric, and let her fingers finish out the final chords. As the last of the music faded, Amelie didn’t even need to turn around to know that Ladybug had already gone. 

Letting out a breath, Amelie took a moment to give Jacq another stroke, which the cat took as encouragement to leap back up to her bed on top of the piano. Amelie hesitated for a couple seconds, thinking. 

Glancing around, she saw the sketchbook on her bed, with drawings stuffed into it. Ladybug’s drawings. Amelie stepped away from the piano, flipping open the sketchbook. Ladybug had neatly slid all her loose drawings behind the cover, and Amelie began to flip through them now.

She took a close look at the first drawing which Ladybug had drawn, of the interior of the shop, a remarkably detailed pencil sketch, including Amelie herself standing in front of some flowers. 

Ladybug had made some of those flowers pop out of the black and grey pencil work with occasional colour pencil.

Amelie was delighted to realise that she’d been right, and that she’d shown an affinity to the shade of blue which she’d picked out for Chat Noir earlier. Also, she found herself musing, her suspicions had been confirmed. Amelie hadn’t particularly liked Adrien’s or Chat Noir’s choice of the pink roses (both had seemed drawn to them). They’d felt almost too cliche. A suspicion had told her not to argue too much.

Ladybug had definitely liked those roses in particular.

Sometimes you just can’t predict things, Amelie mused. Like jazz piano. Sometimes what came out just did, out of emotion, or some strange instinct. Not that she considered herself an expert in that. 

Amelie replaced the sketches into the notebook, and placed it on her desk. Looking longingly at the piano, she sighed, and sorted through her notes until she found it. Placing the Mathematics worksheet on her desk, she plugged in her earphones into her phone and put on her music playlist. 

She was only halfway through her teacher’s mind-numbingly boring calculus assignments when Chat Noir walked into the window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh I hope this chapter doesn't ruin things, I hope this isn't too filler-y. Don't worry, everything is going to go down tomorrow, when I complete and upload chapter 4, which will be the big moments. Also! Music used:  
> Amelie's recorded song: Summertime, specifically the Norah Jones version.  
> Amelie singing to Ladybug: Georgia on my Mind, except I changed it to Paris.
> 
> You'll see I've bumped out the chapter count to 5, because I still have one more chapter in progress to wrap up the story. Thanks to anyone who read this far and I swear the next chapter will be up tomorrow. Thanks!


	4. do i have to fall asleep, with roses in my

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien and Marinette finalise their preparations; the next day, the Plan goes into effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my, roses in my hand?
> 
> \- John Mayer
> 
> also this song ran out of lyrics so I'm repeating this to preface all the remaining chapters. enjoy!

The wind was blowing through Adrien’s hair as he somersaulted over an antenna, landing lightly and springing into a limber sprint across the rooftops. Almost there, Adrien thought. Just a few more rooftops to go, and don’t think about Amelie talking to Ladybug, nope, don’t think about that at all.

Adrien, on autopilot, vaulted up and over an alleyway, his mind whirling with all the things he needed to tell Amelie, and the many more that he needed to ask her. Namely, what did she think of Ladybug? Did Ladybug like any flowers in particular? Had she been asking about him?

He hadn’t even meant for Chat Noir to make the news, but he had. In the tabloids twice in the same day. He was surprised that Nathalie hadn’t come in to talk to him about that, and even more surprised that his father hadn’t mentioned it once.

Then again, his father hadn’t said a word about him playing jazz, either. And when he’d read that note his father had left him, a memory had slipped into his mind, something that lasted for a flash which he’d tried to hold on forever.

Adrien must’ve only been four or five years old. He sat on his mother’s lap, his small hands reaching up to brush against the edge of the black and white line that he recognised as the piano he used. And his mother’s hands were there, playing, gliding across the keys, a smooth music which sounded like...jazz?

Emilie Agreste was singing, too, in Adrien’s memory, her voice high and delicate like a glass chandelier.

“ Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien... ”

“I regret nothing,” Adrien whispered to himself, tears stinging his eyes behind his mask. Because that was all he could recall. Just a fragment of a song, never the whole thing, and her voice seemed to fill his ears as he continued to move, breathing in the fresh night air, lights from the street below rippling over his figure.

The Eiffel Tower stood at the edge of his vision, lit up by its own lights, an outline against the night sky. 

Several pigeons scattered at a landing, and he planted his staff into the rooftop, vaulting over the road and landing on the rooftop just opposite Amelie’s balcony, his movement finally coming to a stop. 

Adrien puffed a breath out into the night air. It wasn’t that late on a Sunday evening, the sun had barely just gone down. He looked across the street. There was a light coming from Amelie’s room.

She was inside, and the breeze ruffled the flowers on the balcony. Adrien narrowed his eyes.

As Chat Noir, his vision sharpened. He saw her clearly, sitting at her desk, holding a pen and writing. Her lips were moving, and Adrien tilted his head, trying to figure out who she was talking to, until he saw the white wires of earphones coming out from her honey-blond hair. 

Adrien tilted his head and reconsidered what he was seeing. Yeah, that made sense. Amelie was singing along to whatever song she was listening to, and as Adrien watched, she put down her pen, closed her eyes, and sang. 

He couldn’t hear it, of course, but it looked cute, especially when she made little hand motions when she sang. 

The lights went out in the other room he could see. Marinette’s room, at the end of the street. Marinette had seemed stressed today. Adrien didn’t really stop to think about it, but if he had, he would’ve been surprised by how much he cared for the quiet girl. Because he’d met her before, as Chat Noir, and then she was funny, sometimes sarcastic, and earnest with him. 

And today, she’d busied herself with sketching, but she’d also been stealing glances at him. Adrien was oblivious, but not that oblivious. 

He’d figured out quite some time ago that Marinette probably had some attraction to him, but Adrien didn’t think much about it. Every other girl he met, after all, had some kind of small crush on him, or simply didn’t do too much to hide their appreciation of him. 

Besides, it was freeing to simply treat Marinette as any other friend. Now, however, dressed as Chat Noir, standing on a Parisian rooftop, Adrien felt a little pull on his heart. As Chat Noir, Marinette’s adorable quirks and her openness became clear in a way he never felt as Adrien Agreste. 

He thought of leaping over to Marinette’s balcony, then thought better of it. Let her sleep, Adrien decided. She’d looked exhausted today, anyway. Besides, there were bouquets to design, and a pretty jazz pianist to thank. 

Adrien sprung from the rooftop, landing lightly on the balcony with hardly a sound. He took a couple steps forward and walked into the glass balcony doors. 

Reeling, Adrien stumbled backwards. “Oww!” he whined.

From inside the room he heard muffled laughter, and as he blinked and ran a hand through his hair, the glass door slid open, and the breeze sent Amelie’s hair blowing slightly in the air.

Backlit by her room, hair elegant and messy at once, smiling down at him, Adrien thought that Amelie did in fact look like a model. A model not in the sense that he was a model, a pretty face meant to sell clothes, but it was the seemingly effortless grace and beauty that seemed to just radiate from her. 

“Do our meetings always have to start with you injuring yourself in some way?”

Then she started laughing again, and Adrien pouted, stepping inside the room. The atmosphere defused, and grumbling, Adrien turned to slide the door behind him shut. 

“So,” Amelie said, drawing out her vowels. “What distracts you today from noticing that windows exist, my dear Chat?”

“Oh, nothing much at all, my dear Flower Princess,” Adrien said, running a hand through his messy golden locks. Smooth, Adrien told himself. Keep you flirty mode on. Can’t let it slip too much.

Besides, he liked being Chat Noir, didn’t he?

“I was just thinking about your bright presence, and what a debt I owe to you.” Adrien meant what he said, as he voice softened with emotion over the back half of that sentence. Amelie tilted her head, eyes narrowing, and for a brief moment Adrien saw his green eyes reflected over her blue ones, and his mother appeared in front of him again.

Amelie blinked, her lips parting slightly. 

“Thank...thank you, Chat Noir, but I don’t believe that helping you make a bouquet is really all that much of a-”

Adrien impulsively reached out to grip Amelie’s hand in his. 

“I can’t tell you much, but you have. Done something that deserves my gratitude.” Adrien once again saw his mother in his memory, resurrected and brought back from the graveyard of memory. 

And so he missed the slight blush on Amelie’s cheeks as her long fingers interlocked with his.

“Well, then,” she said softly, “it seems that perhaps you can pay that back by saving Paris, and thus my life, just a couple more times.”

“Oh no, Flower Princess.” Adrien stepped closer. “I’m afraid that you now own a favour or two from Paris’ best superhero.”

Amelie snorted. “I’m sure Ladybug would disagree, now wouldn’t she?”

Adrien felt his tail whip frantically behind him, even as he tried to keep his face impassive. “Perhaps after I give her your flowers, she would agree.”

Amelie just gave him a bright smile that told him that she could see straight through him. She turned, flipping her blonde waves over one shoulder, and stepped over to her desk, where she picked up a red sketchbook, with pieces of paper peeking loosely out. Amelie hummed to herself, turning to deny Adrien a look at what was inside. 

She let out an “aha!” before spinning back around, closing the sketchbook firmly. Adrien felt the uncertainty in his gut begin to build. She knew that he knew that Ladybug had come here. Adrien wanted to say it, very badly. 

To ask her. How was his Lady today? How did she like the flowers?

His tail, once again, whipped impatiently back and forth as Adrien decided that he wasn’t going to ask, because he wasn’t predictable. His tail suddenly stopped moving. Pinned. Adrien turned around, and immediately the guilty party went sprinting past in a blur of tan and white, and Jacq curled up against Amelie’s legs, staring up at Adrien with a puzzled “who? me?” look. Amelie sighed.

“So, I had a very productive talk with a certain someone today, and in light of that, I think we’ll have to change up our schedule a little just a little bit. I have...things to consider tomorrow, so after tonight, I’ll see you on Monday night, right here, with a completed bouquet.”

“What did you think? About her?” Chat Noir found himself asking, more out of instinct than any real necessity. It wasn’t as though he needed Amelie’s approval, didn’t he? 

“She is amazing,” Amelie ducked her head, smiling, something that seemed like secrets fluttering inside her eyes. “What an interesting person. Kind, caring, capable of doing many things, and most importantly, waiting for someone to give her flowers.”

“Did she say that?” Adrien said, his mind running at full speed. Was Ladybug’s crush finally becoming aware of her? Probably not, whichever idiot had her attention most likely couldn’t possibly be that smart if he’d overlooked Ladybug for months. 

“Not exactly,” Amelie hummed, “but reading between the lines is kind of a hobby of mine, as you may have noticed.” Amelie winked at Adrien, who was watching her, excited and tense. “I can tell who comes in dreaming of the moment they put the flowers into their beau’s hands, and who comes in dreaming of the moment they see their beau with flowers in their hands, hoping it’s for them.”

“So she’s waiting?” Adrien asked, barely daring to speak. 

“Waiting, yes. Who she wants, that is another matter altogether, and not for discussion.” Amelie arched an eyebrow, and Adrien got the message. 

This wasn’t the time for a woe-is-me confessional, and it wouldn’t help her capture his true feelings. 

“Alright, then.” Adrien pondered something in his mind for a moment. “You said that I could use shades of blue to capture melancholy, right?” 

Amelie’s lips twitched. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien ran a hand through his hair, trying to hold in his supreme embarrassment. “Some kind of blue and purple sort of thing.”

“Sort of like...” Adrien’s mind ran out of colours quickly. He settled for, “kind of like bluebells...or lavender. I-I don’t quite know how to-”

Amelie pushed past him and slid open the balcony door. “Stay here, cats,” Amelie called over her shoulder. 

“This needs a delicate touch.” 

The balcony door remained open just a touch, and the cool air whisking through the room seemed to call his attention to the open piano in front of him. It looked like it was made of a warm wooden casing, and the keys felt tempting. 

Adrien sat, adjusting the chair unconsciously. Jacq leapt in one quick bound to sit beside him. He closed his eyes, and tried to play. Easy one, first, just to get the feel of this piano. 

The moon was bright tonight, and he’d noticed it, as he often did, a nearly round moon floating weightlessly in the dark blue sheets of the sky. 

So he played  _ Clair de Lune _ , because why not. Because whenever he met her at night, under a round moon, with the Eiffel Tower and the whole of Paris lit up beneath them, everything seemed different. 

So he played, and in his mind his mother looked on, smiling. His father did, too. It was a personal favourite of his father’s if Gabriel Agreste’s minute facial expressions were anything to go by. 

When he lifted his fingers off the keys, and opened his eyes, a sprig of blue-purple rosemary was delicately placed on the score stand, exactly that shade he had failed to describe. 

“How,” Adrien breathed.

“Mystery for another day,” Amelie said airily, placing that red sketchbook down on top of the piano. “Now, may I?” She gestured to the piano. 

“Of course, Flower Princess,” Adrien said, grinning devilishly. “This is your piano, after all.” 

He made to get up, but Amelie scooped Jacq into his lap and settled down beside him, hip-checking him towards the end of the bench.

“This is a favourite of mine,” she said fondly, and began to play. Adrien recognised those opening notes instantly, his fingers stroking the cat in his lap.

Instead of singing, however, Amelie went into a solo first, similar in atmosphere to that one she had played, but different in it’s own way, although when she sang, it’s hypnotising effect was the same. 

“ _ One of these mornings, _ ” she sang, her voice vulnerable and open, and with more emotion than her more polished performance, “ _ you’re gonna rise up singing... _ ”

Adrien closed his eyes, trying to will away the tears that kept springing into his eyes. 

They took turns, between long conversations about love, music, and flowers, to play the piano. Amelie was a patient but dramatic teacher, swooning and overreacting terribly whenever she had the chance. And soon, Adrien found his fingers running jerkily over the keys, with absolutely no idea what he was playing. It didn’t sound too bad.

“That’s jazz, I’m afraid,” Amelie shrugged. 

“Who taught you?” Adrien asked. 

“My mother. She works as a nurse now, on night shifts, but for a while, after she graduated, she went on the jazz circuit, playing for a living. My father was there to deliver flowers, but he stayed when he heard her play, so they met and luckily, had me. He’s overseas now, actually, to scout for more flowers,” Amelie admitted. Her facade of the confident flirt was falling as well, Adrien found himself thinking.

“I’m happy I don’t get the chance to be lonely,” she said softly. Adrien’s fingers touched hers again.

“I’m pretty happy, too,” Adrien whispered. They sat there quietly for a while, until finally, Adrien worked up the courage to move, and he left with a quick goodbye, his last glance over his shoulder of Amelie slowly closing the lid on the piano, until a hand grabbed his.

“Wait,” Amelie hissed, and she pushed three stalks into Adrien’s hand. “Some of my spares. For luck.”

This would work, Adrien told himself. It had to. The moonlight and the night air welcomed him back into their embrace as he went gallivanting out for just one more leap before he headed home.

As he landed on his windowsill, he made sure that the flowers had survived the trip. They had, and Adrien looked at the pink roses again. He would’ve put them in a pot, but it was already the next day, and Adrien barely had the energy to detransform before collapsing onto his bed, asleep, dreaming already.

With roses in his hands.

  
  


\--

It was Monday, and Marinette was checking all the corners this time whenever she turned them. She didn’t need another incident, not today of all days. Yesterday had been...interesting, Marinette thought to herself. 

But she had to focus on the here and now. She made it into the school early, walking slowly over to her locker, trying to compose her thoughts and her actions. Marinette slid out the vase that Amelie had given her yesterday, and placed it in her locker, placing it carefully near the back, retrieving some of the books which she’d need today. 

Marinette rested her head against the cold metal of the locker, breathing deeply. Just the thought of what she had planned was chilling her to the bone. 

“Pretend that you’re Ladybug again,” Amelie had said to Marinette yesterday afternoon, as Marinette hefted the vase in her hands, conscious of how interested she seemed. Ladybug shouldn’t be recognising this vase, after all.

“I know that you really don’t want to do it as yourself, but who else could deliver it with the sincerity that you have?” Amelie had pointed out, sorting through a couple more sketches. Marinette had bit her lip and reluctantly agreed to Amelie’s plan. 

“But I can’t just show up as myself, I can’t give that much away...no offense, but if I show up there you’ll spot me.” Marinette said. Amelie looked like she was suppressing laughter. 

“Alright, then. You’re sure you don’t need this vase?” Marinette had asked. 

“Oh, a friend lent it to me. I’m sure he’ll be fine with it. He strikes me as a nice guy,” Amelie cocked her head, thinking. Marinette had to bite her lip to stop herself from agreeing with her. She doesn’t know, and you need to change her plan so that she doesn’t find out!

Cool, calm, collected, Marinette told herself. Just a touch curious. 

“A boy, huh? Someone you like?” 

Marinette almost regretted that question, because the teasing smile that rose on Amelie’s face was cute and devilish, and made Marinette shiver slightly. 

“Oh, there’s many people I like,” Amelie said, waving her hand. “Why?” Amelie asked, winking, “Are you interested?”

Marinette felt herself blush again. “No, nothing like that.”

“Well, then, we need to make sure that you can present whoever this mystery boy is with the present he deserves, and with this same confidence.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” Marinette muttered.

“How about you imagine someone else, then?” Amelie narrowed her eyes. “Someone you can practise with in your head without freaking out?”

Marinette had nodded, closed her eyes, and her mind had raced to places she hadn’t expected. She’d left later that day, confused and slightly bewildered by the sudden conclusions which she’ accidentally found herself making.

And that night, later that night…

She felt her face grow warm against the metal locker, and she shook herself back fully awake. Now wasn’t the time to think about that! It shouldn’t be. It couldn’t be. 

Fortunately, there was a distraction, but in the worst kind of way. A preening voice came floating down the corridor. “...Adrien is mine, and everyone knows that,” Chloe stuck her head high in the air. 

“He probably went to get some flowers for me, not some dumb blonde who probably can’t even manage her own store.”

Marinette found herself slamming the locker door shut with an audible _ bang! _ and she turned around, her mouth open, words already building in her mind. 

“If he was getting flowers, it was probably for me,” Lila Rossi sneered, flicking chestnut-brown hair behind her ear. “You’ve got a point, Bourgeois, that florist doesn’t look like much, at least compared to me.”

“She’d outclass both of you even if she’d just fallen into the Seine!”

The words shot out of Marinette’s mouth like a bullet, and although her hands twitched and she felt the urge to clamp her mouth shut and run, she strode in between the two girls, who turned to look at her, mouths wide open.

“Honestly,” Marinette said archly, “I’d expect this from a bad sitcom, not real people. She’s a perfectly nice person who doesn’t need makeup or a good reputation to survive, unlike certain people I can mention.”

Marinette spun and stalked towards class, her knees shivering in fear and elation. And seriously. One picture of the two of them on Twitter and this is what happens? Marinette was seriously beginning to doubt even herself, based on how badly she’d misjudged the original situation. 

Also, as the high began to fade, a small part of herself began to quiver in fear and think of apologising. Marinette crushed that part of her with as much of her Ladybug calm as possible. 

She smiled her way through the rest of the school day, accepting hi-fives from Alya and Nino as they came into class. Adrien had just smiled sincerely at her, and Marinette’s heart leapt again. 

Sitting through the rest of school, however, was just slightly irritating when there was an all-important Plan that could help decide her strange love life.

The bell rang at last, and Marinette turned to Adrien. “I have...something to show you. Can I meet you later at Seb’s Cafe? Maybe in half an hour?”

Adrien nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

Marinette had to hold in the giddy smile, and she smiled softly. “I’ll see you there, then.”

She went to take the vase secretly from her locker, and slipped out towards the cafe to get herself ready. Amelie was already there, and her band was setting up, complaining a little. 

“What I don’t get,” Gabrielle was saying, “is why we had to rush all the way here for this. It’s not like we needed to be here early.” She was checking the connection to her bass in distaste. Hannah sighed and placed a calming hand on Gabrielle’s shoulder.

“Leave her be, Gabby. She’s just nervous, that’s all.”

Gabrielle and Audrey turned to look sceptically at Hannah, who just huffed and crossed her arms over the guitar slung over her shoulder. 

“What?” Audrey and Gabrielle looked pointedly over at the figure at the piano.

Marinette had to admit, it wouldn’t have been surprising if Amelie had never seemed nervous. And even now, she didn’t look that nervous, leaning casually against the standing piano, her long blond hair down in those vague waves that floated over her shoulders. She was wearing some kind of suit, with form-fitting pants, a white button-up shirt and a tight black blazer. 

Amelie even had her eyes closed, and her lips were pursed, thinking. Marinette scurried a little closer. 

“Um, Amelie?” Marinette’s voice cracked a little, but this time she didn’t care. 

Amelie’s eyes snapped wide open. “Is he on his way?”

Marinette bit her lip, and nodded. Amelie stood, a fluid motion, and ducked behind the curtain. “Bring the vase!” she called over her shoulder. Marinette carefully pulled it from her bag, and ducked behind the curtain. The vase was a little masterpiece that Marinette couldn’t help but feel proud of. 

She’d turned the crack into a curling stem, turned the vase into what Marinette imagined the inside would look like, a light blue coat around the bottom half for water, and Marinette had let her imagination spill a tangling forest of roots and hidden flowers over the rest of the vase.

But the centrepiece was the single stem that traced all the way down, which was the most obvious and most subtle part of it, the backbone of the art piece, the stem that traced along the crack. 

Marinette had been worrying about it, but when she watched Amelie carefully fit the bouquet into the vase, all she could say was a quiet, “oh.”

The bouquet was slender, made out of lilies and draped with greenery, with peonies poking their heads subtly through the green background of leaves, and fitting perfectly in the centre, tracing a clear line down that would line up exactly with that crack, was a single red rose. 

About the length of her forearm, it seemed perfect. 

And she could only gasp and step forward to let her hands hover over it.

“When he comes,” Amelie said, “you’ll know it...Ladybug.”

Marinette barely heard it, and she nodded nevertheless. Amelie disappeared behind the curtain, and faintly, Marinette could hear her announcing her band to the cafe, before launching straight into  _ Summertime _ .

She was still busy unraveling the threads in her mind. The plan had been made, but that day, Amelie had still not talked about her appearing in civilian form, until Amelie had sighed and cracked Marinette’s life wide open.

“This plan will work. I know you’re worried about your identity. I apologize that I...I know how strange it seems, but I’ll never spill, Marinette.”

She’d frozen up, tried to make her words work, but the certainty in Amelie’s voice was a killer. She knew. It wasn’t a suspicion. She knew.

“How...” Marinette choked out.

“Does it really matter?” Amelie had asked. “Either way, I know who you’re talking to and who you are. Plus I’d like to help you in any way I can. Music is one of those ways. It’s magic, courage and emotion distilled.”

Marinette had let out a forlorn puff. It was a good plan, she’d thought, and decided to take Amelie’s advice and put her secret identity apart for a day. And so she found herself behind the curtain now, breathing slowly.

The wait seemed interminable, as jazz song after jazz song played, wonderfully, and the time inched closer to when Adrien would arrive. Then there was a lull, and Marinette tried to remember how to breathe.

Amelie and her band had been avoiding any songs about love up until that point, as a rustle went through the room as it fell silent. 

The music began, a slow swing beat, soft piano, and...strings?

“I’ve got an extra surprise,” Amelie had said.

“ _ Unforgettable, _ ” Amelie began to sing, “ _ that’s what you are. _ ”

“ _ Unforgettable, though near or far. _ ”

Marinette brushed her hair out of her face, picked up the bouquet, and stepped out from behind the curtain. 

She beheld, in front of her, a half-full cafe, and sitting right at the front of the stage, was Adrien Agreste, his mouth falling open as he locked his eyes on her, turning to look at her, rising slowly from his seat. 

“ _ Like a song of love that clings to me. How the thought of you does things to me _ ”

Marinette vaguely noticed the string quartet just offstage, accompanying the band and filling the cafe with a wonderfully romantic atmosphere

“ _ Never before has someone been more, _ ” Amelie sang, “ _ Unforgettable in every way. _ ”

Marinette stepped to the front of the stage, and Adrien stepped forwards, his eyes sad and sparkling. 

Marinette slowly lifted the bouquet forwards, and, head up, shoulders back, presented it to Adrien Agreste at last. 

She remembered the previous night, when she’d been pacing in her room, trying to think of what she could say, how she could act. 

It had been then that she’d heard a soft thud of boots on her roof, and Marinette felt a smile twitch on her face, as she let Chat Noir into her room. 

“Sorry I’ve been away so much, my Princess,” he said, grinning that sly smirk of his. “Had to work on some rather pressing projects.”

Despite herself, Marinette found herself smiling back boldly, repressing the memory of Chat Noir standing pressed up against Amelie on her balcony just a couple nights ago. It didn’t matter to her who Chat Noir dated, she told herself. 

But why was it that when she tried to slip into Ladybug, she couldn’t help but notice these things? A mystery for next time, Marinette thought. Not today, not yet. 

“You’re here in time, Chat Noir,” Marinette said sweetly, “I need a partner, and just nicely, you have come.”

“A partner?” One of Chat Noir’s ears twitched. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, my Princess.”

“You came to the right place,” Marinette corrected. “I was already here.”

“So, what is it you require my services for?” Chat Noir asked.

“Just stand there. It’s a speech I plan on delivering...to the boy I like,” Marinette bit her lip. Was this stupid? Would Chat Noir laugh at her? She didn’t need that blow to her-

Chat Noir’s hand was on her shoulder.

“It’s fine. I have to do something similar tomorrow, as well. Just picture that boy, whoever it is. I promise I won’t laugh.” He looked earnest, and Marinette felt her back straighten.

“Okay,” Marinette said. “Okay.”

“I hope you like this,” Marinette said to Adrien, as his hands rose instinctively to accept the bouquet. The bouquet seemed quaint in his hands, and Marinette had to fight the urge to pull it back and run.

“ _ And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay. _ ”

Adrien held it in front of him, his eyes searching over the flowers, and then over the artwork which seemed to draw his eyes. 

“I painted the vase myself, although the flowers are really all Amelie.” 

“ _ That’s why darling, it’s incredible. _ ”

Chat Noir stood and hefted the water bottle Marinette had just passed him. Marinette took a breath and ploughed on. 

“I know that you and I don’t know each other very well. I regret that I haven’t been able to be a proper friend to you for so long, but I’ve known you long enough to be able to say this to you: You are one of the kindest, most humble people I have ever met, and that is why I truly regret if this ends our friendship.”

That last sentence had certainly caught Adrien’s attention, and he raised his head, eyes wide in alarm. Marinette smiled back and shook her head gently. 

“ _ That someone so unforgettable; thinks I’m unforgettable too. _ ”

“No, no, it’s not because of you. It’s because of the same reason why I wanted to give you flowers today. But I just wanted you to know that I really do value our friendship, what we have of it, and I just wish that I knew you enough to be able to not be that superficial about it.”

Marinette took in a breath, and tried to picture Adrien in front of her. But her mind wouldn’t let her, and she looked Chat Noir in the eyes and continued. 

“I like you. I really do, and more than just as friends. I think you’re the most unforgettable person I’ve met, and not just because of your looks. I know I don’t know you well enough, and that you don’t know me well enough, but I have to say this now. I don’t want this hanging over my head when I try to get to know you better.”

Chat Noir’s face was unreadable.

“Because this is what I’m asking. I just want to get to know you better than I ever have, so that one day, if I get the chance to give you flowers, it will be out of a purer place. And I felt that this was the start of a new friendship, I had to come clean about our past relationship.”

Behind them, Amelie launched into a piano solo, bittersweet and slow, but tinged with hopeful hints, and it was like a hand on her back pushing her forwards. The strings played. Guitar glided in the background, along a slow swing beat.

“So, I had a crush on you. I don’t need you to reply, I just wanted you to know. I feel this way, and I always will.”

Chat Noir had yet to move. Marinette hesitated for a brief second, and saw a barest twitch in Chat Noir’s ears telling her to continue.

“But I want to move on from this crush. I want to know you as a friend, and maybe I’ll deserve to give you flowers and ask for your heart eventually.”

“ _ And that’s why darling, it’s incredible. _ ”

Marinette stepped off the stage and stood right in front of Adrien, who looked down at her with suddenly unreadable green eyes, looking handsome and imposing, and a frisson of fear skated through her body again. 

“ _ That someone so unforgettable... _ ”

“So, there it is. I hope we can grow closer.” Marinette kept her eyes on the pleasing aesthetic of the bouquet, calming herself. When she looked up, Adrien’s eyes were softer, understanding.

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said faintly. 

“For everything. And I appreciate what you did. Took courage, and I have to say this.” Adrien closed his eyes. 

“I may love someone else right now, but I swear that won’t stop me from getting to know you better. And maybe the same thing happens to me, who knows? I can’t promise anything, but I don’t deserve your heart now, and maybe sometime in the future I’ll be worthy of it, maybe I’ll want it. Or you could change. Want someone else. But I won’t deny you that chance.”

Marinette felt her legs quivering. Adrien was just so...nice. Too nice. Her thoughts were running a little wild. 

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Marinette managed. 

“I’ll keep the flowers safe,” Adrien said. 

“ _ Thinks that I am unforgettable too... _ ”

Amelie and her band finished their song, and a hush settled over the cafe. Adrien nodded to Amelie, who nodded back. 

With a final word of thanks, Adrien hefted the bouquet and stepped out of the cafe, disappearing into the Parisian afternoon. Marinette felt her legs begin to buckle, and Amelie was slipping out from behind the piano, gesturing to a boy in the audience sitting nearby. Marinette vaguely recognised him as the first guy performing when they’d first visited.

The band launched into the next song, Gabrielle taking lead vocals.

“ _ Come away with me... _

Amelie ushered Marinette behind the curtain. “Hey, hey, hey, you’ve done it, and it went spectacularly!”

“Did it?” Marinette whispered.

“Yes.” Amelie glanced at her watch. “Now, debriefing. Standard procedure. Meet me in Ladybug apparel on my rooftop at oh, is 9 pm good? It is? Excellent.”

Marinette was ushered back out to the cafe, given a coffee and a croissant, on the house. Amelie resumed her place at the piano, and after nursing her coffee for another half-hour, Marinette left.

\--

He was early, at least an hour early, and he had to think. Adrien sat down beside the flowers on Amelie’s roof, and tried to think about what had happened today. Marinette had liked him in that way for that long, and he’d never noticed?

Adrien placed the three pink roses into an empty planter box and placed his head back against a bunch of daisies. 

How could he focus now? Knowing exactly how that speech would finish, knowing that that speech which he’d helped her practise the night before, was actually for him, that was...that was…

She liked him, and Adrien wished he could say he liked her back.

Because he did, somewhere, from both Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste, feel a fondness of Marinette, and he did care. Just not quite in the way that Marinette wanted.

Adrien closed his eyes and tried to think. That lone red rose kept popping into his mind, where it currently sat on his desk, winking at him when he got home. This was something he really didn’t need right now, Adrien thought, his fingers curling.

He remembered it, her standing on the stage, looking down at him with stars in her eyes, a smooth voice cooing a jazz song around them, and just feeling so unworthy.

Adrien shook his head harder, hoping that the cooling air would take effect and clear his mind. He didn’t doubt what he was going to do, and he clung on to that thought. Adrien knew that he had reason to like Ladybug, and Marinette had put into words exactly how he felt about Ladybug. 

Adrien did like her, and wanted to know her better. Desperately. 

Could he do it now? Tell Ladybug? Whatever it was, he had to be careful. Amelie had been there when Marinette had given him the flowers, which were most definitely her design. He had expected to be giving, not receiving, and certainly not from Marinette.

There was a soft click as the rooftop door opened, and Amelie slipped out into the evening sky, the breeze tousling her blonde hair, which fell loosely over her blazer, pulled tight over her shoulders. 

“Very early, Chat Noir. One could even say you’re enthusiastic.” Adrien tried to smile back at her, but his lips couldn’t quite make it. Amelie’s blue eyes filled with understanding, and she pulled an empty crate over and sat on it. 

“I imagine something’s happened between Saturday night and right now. Did...are you going to call this off?” Amelie leaned forward, looking at Adrien carefully. Adrien couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze. 

“I don’t think so. I want to do this now, before I lose my nerve.” Adrien’s voice was still steady. Good. 

“What is it, then?”

“Have you ever thought about if you could yourself? Trust your own feelings?” Adrien asked.

Amelie blinked. “Well, once or twice.”

“It seems that I can’t. I’ve just realised today that I missed something huge about one of my friends, and that I don’t even know whether I really want this to happen, or if it’s just me dreaming of whatever I want.”

Amelie tucked some of her hair behind one ear. “Well, dreaming with a broken heart will do that. Of course, you have to figure out who broke your heart. Was it her? Did you do it to yourself? If you did, you can find a way back to yourself.”

Adrien snorted. “So, just like that?”

“I never said I knew how you could do it. But it’s a start.” Amelie shrugged.

“What do I have to do?” Adrien threw his head back. “Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand? Waiting to give them to her? Would she take them if I did?”

Amelie’s eyes darted to the roses in the planter box. 

“Something,” she said, “tells me you already have. And she will.”

Adrien felt his shoulders relax. For a couple hours, he could put this worry aside. 

“Come on,” Amelie said, “Time for you to actually use those big strong muscles of yours. We need to get the speakers up and the band prepped in time!”

Adrien smiled at that, and he stood, and they began to move.

It was cutting it a little close when, at 8:50, the other band members, along with a couple boys that Adrien didn’t recognise, arrived on the rooftop, lit now by a bright moon and a couple lamps usually saved for the flowers. 

Amelie sat at the keyboard. 

“Sound check, everyone!”

The two boys in suits opened black cases, and took out trumpets. The six musicians proceeded to run through several scales together, getting a sense for the timing. Adrien still didn’t know what exactly they were going to play, but Amelie looked satisfied. “Alright, good everyone. Remember, give it all you’ve got, you’re performing for Ladybug.”

“Chat Noir? A word,” Amelie stood and beckoned him over. Adrien strode across, and together they stepped across to the other side of the lineup of flowers. 

There it was. 

Adrien couldn’t stop looking at it.

“Wow,” Adrien muttered. 

“Yeah,” Amelie whispered back. “Not too bad.”

It was a larger bouquet than the one Marinette had given him, this one’s diameter the length of his forearm. Blue-violet rosemary sprigs were scattered artfully around it, a couple clusters of pink-tinged anemones, and a couple bluebells with a lone fleur-de-lis. 

And in the centre, five pink roses. 

It looked perfect, somehow it told him what he already wanted to say, just by looking at it. He wasn’t quite sure about taking this further, but he did like her, and he wanted to make her happy and be beside her.

Adrien wasn’t much of a person for words anyway, and he gripped Amelie’s arm. “Thank you, for everything,” Adrien said, looking Amelie deep in her eyes. Amelie smiled, and broke eye contact, looking shyly around as a blush built in her cheeks.

“It’s good to make friends and at the same time earn favours from nice, handsome superheroes, wouldn’t you say?” Amelie’s smile reached her eyes, and they twinkled in the moonlight. 

“Stay back here. She’ll be here any moment.” Amelie hesitated, then impulsively wrapped Chat Noir in a quick hug, pressing her lips to his cheek. 

“And I should be the one thanking you.”

Adrien nodded back. Amelie really had done so much for him, and both she and him knew that Adrien - well, Chat Noir - only had eyes for one girl.

There was the sound of Amelie sitting in her chair. A rustling sound, like paper. Then just the rush of the Parisian night, until there was a swoosh of air, and the soft sound of boots on concrete. 

Almost on cue the trumpets began to play, a series of short sharp notes. The drummer joined in. 

“ _ Some day, when I’m awfully low, when the world is cold, _ ” Amelie’s voice rang out, and Chat Noir stepped out from behind the bushes. Ladybug stood there, her head cocked in confusion at the impromptu jazz band that she’d just stumbled upon. 

“ _ I will feel a glow, just thinking of you, _ ” The rest of the band joined in, a jazz standard on a moonlit Paris night, and Ladybug turned, the lamps silhouetting her in orange fire, the light bouncing off her glossy blue-black hair, those big blue eyes turning to suck him deep with their intelligence and empathy. 

“Good evening, my lady,” Adrien called out.

“ _ and the way you look, tonight, _ ”

Ladybug turned to look at Adrien, and her mouth dropped open as Adrien presented to her the bouquet. Almost instinctively, she took it from him, her eyes sucking in the colours and the flowers, and almost seeming to know every single detail he’d poured into Amelie when she was making the bouquet. 

“ _ Yes you’re lovely, with your smile so warm. And your cheeks so soft, _ ”

“I hope you like it, my lady.” Adrien felt suddenly freer, his step lighter, because he was giving flowers to a pretty girl, while music played around him, like he was in a movie or a cheap romance novel.

“ _ There is nothing for me to do but to love you. And the way you look tonight. _ ”

“I know that you’re aware that I do...like you. I just wanted to make it clear that I have thought about it, and I’m more convinced than ever that you are the person I want to spend more time with. More time outside saving Paris. I don’t think that you’ll be able to give me the answer that I want yet, but that’s okay. I don’t want it yet. I just want to know...”

“ _ With each word, your tenderness grows, tearin’ my fear apart. And that laugh, wrinkles your nose. Touches my foolish heart. _ ”

“Would you be willing?” Adrien swallowed. “To just spend more time together? As friends first? I know you like some other blond boy, but maybe, just maybe, if we got to know more about each other, I can realise whether or not I should give this up. Because I don’t want too much of this between us.”

“I can only flirt so much without wondering, and it’s been slowly weighing me down. Can you just...consider it?” Ladybug hadn’t spoken, but her eyes were filling up with what looked like tears, and she looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. She thought as trumpets and piano caused the air around them to dance. 

“ _ Lovely...never, never change. Keep that breathless charm. _ ”

“Maybe,” Ladybug said. “I think I owe you the chance to at least try.”

She sounded so vulnerable, and yet confident, and she had said yes, she’d given him a chance, and Adrien could feel his heart bursting. That was such a weight lifted off his chest, and suddenly Adrien was taking in deep breaths again and standing straighter.

“I know that this might seem...much,” Adrien took a deep breath, because his eyes had just caught on something.

“ _ Won’t you please arrange it? ‘Cause I love you, _ ”

He leaned down and gently put the bouquet from her hands and laid it tenderly to one side. In that empty planter, the three roses had been entwined together, and clothed simply in a single, elegant fold of white paper.

Adrien picked it up and watched as Ladybug reached out, her hands clasping his, to receive it. 

And somehow, Adrien knew that he could do it. He would get to know both Ladybug and Marinette, and one day, maybe soon, he could truly fall in love with one, and become true friends with the other.

Unknown to him, his thoughts were being echoed in Ladybug’s mind, a scenario that Adrien would’ve considered impossible. 

There they stood, hands clasped, in mutual understanding, as a full moon beamed down over them and all the lovers in this City of Lights, as music played and light trickled over the colours of the flowers surrounding them. 

“ _ Just the way you look tonight... _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that's the culmination of the Plan, and somehow I stretched this to four chapters? I swear I was so sure this was a one-shot that I'd never continue. Anyway, there's still more to come, one last, much shorter chapter where Amelie will help tie up some loose ends and I can finally finish this fic, which suddenly turned much jazzier than I expected after the first chapter. 
> 
> Music used:  
> Marinette's speech: Unforgettable by Nat King Cole  
> Gabrielle's brief moment: Come Away With Me by Norah Jones  
> Chat Noir's speech: The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra
> 
> Also, as you've noticed, Amelie has figured out Ladybug's secret identity! It wasn't all body language reading, there's some actual thinking that Amelie has done. It'll all be revealed in the final chapter, but I'm curious if anyone reading this now has any theories about how Amelie found a big similarity in Ladybug and Marinette? It's mentioned in earlier chapters, not too obviously I hope, so this one isn't a retcon. Try to spot it, and anyway, the final chapter will be up...Friday night?
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	5. roses in my hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. Amelie wraps up loose ends; Adrien falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand?  
> Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my, roses in my hand?
> 
> \- John Mayer

Amelie blew out a breath, and let the anxiousness in her stomach fade away. Chat Noir and Ladybug had left just ten minutes ago, to talk. Marinette had quickly whispered to her, “I’ll be back for it!” before leaving. Amelie carefully placed the bouquet into the empty crate where it’d be safe for a while.

The two trumpet players had left already. Amelie still couldn’t believe that Audrey had wrangled them into coming so late on a school night. They’d carried most of the things back downstairs, but they sat on the rooftop together for a while in silence. 

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” Hannah asked. 

“It got a little awkward for a while,” Audrey pointed out. 

Gabrielle plucked at her acoustic guitar. “Could’ve been worse. Remember Valentine’s Day last year?”

“Oh yeah, Jacques’ attempt to get Susan to go out with him?” Hannah started laughing. “We teased him about it for months.”

“We could always stretch it to years,” Gabrielle said. 

“Well, Amelie?” Hannah turned to her, her eyes wide and smiling. “Wasn’t that nice? And what a chance, too! Playing for superheroes and everything.”

Amelie tore her eyes from the sky. “Hmm? Oh, well, yes. Today went just exactly how I’d hoped it could be. Not quite wildest dreams material, but quite a decent ending nonetheless. Plus more chances to perform, right?”

Gabrielle strummed a G chord randomly. “I suppose. How did you even organise all this, anyway?”

Amelie shrugged. “They wanted flowers, so I helped them. Getting some extra performance time didn’t hurt either. Besides, I’m just glad Jean and Philippe came through with the trumpets.”

Audrey looked away. “Hey, they owed me a favour. Besides, how’d you pull Marion’s quartet?”

A smile touched Amelie’s lips. “Promised to buy her coffee for the next week.”

Hannah started laughing again. “Oh, that’ll do. I’ve never seen Marion without coffee.”

There was a lull in the conversation. 

“You girls heading home?” Amelie asked. 

“We could sleep over tonight, we’ve done it often enough.” Audrey offered. 

“Well then,” Amelie said, looking around her. Her keyboard and Hannah’s bass and amp were still plugged in. Jean and Philippe had helped them bring the drum kit down, but Audrey was still sitting on a cajon. 

“Shall we play something...not jazz?” Amelie asked.

“Why not?” Gabrielle hefted her guitar. 

“What, then?” Hannah asked. 

“ _ Dreaming With a Broken Heart _ ? Get some John Mayer?” Amelie raised.

“A touch too sad for tonight,” Audrey opined. 

Amelie let her fingers rest on the keys for a second. “ _ Trouble _ ?” Gabrielle asked. Amelie bit her lip and brushed hair from her eyes. 

“Let’s take a break from love songs. Let’s just do an easy one.  _ Take Me Home, Country Roads _ .”

They exchanged glances, Audrey and Gabrielle knowingly, Hannah just confused. 

“Alright, then!” Hannah said cheerfully. “Gabrielle, won’t you start us off?” She nodded, and began playing.

“ _ Almost heaven, West Virginia... _ ”

The rest all joined in, and Amelie just focused on that, singing together with everyone, playing music. 

“ _ Country roads, take me home, to the place, I belong. _ ”

Together, under the cover of the night sky.

“ _ West Virginia, mountain momma, take me home, country roads... _ ”

The others were asleep later that night when Chat Noir and Ladybug returned. Amelie was still on the roof, waiting. Ladybug looked slightly panicked when Chat Noir said he wanted to wait on the rooftops for a while longer. 

Amelie was on it quickly, leaving her seat. “We can talk better downstairs for a while. Easier than the cold, anyway.”

Ladybug mouthed a  _ thank you _ to her. Amelie nodded back. After all, it wouldn’t do for Chat Noir to catch a glimpse of Ladybug heading back into Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s house, would it?

It had, Amelie reflected, not been too hard. Although they possessed similar physical attributes, their style of movement and speech could’ve been polar opposites. That put many people off making the comparison, but Amelie had seen other things as well. Marinette’s sketch of her during her first visit to Seb’s Cafe.

What had Gabrielle said?  _ You really caught her good side _ , or something along those lines. When Ladybug had been sketching the whole store after she’d come in, she’d sketched Amelie, too. 

The styles matched almost exactly. Too closely, in Amelie’s opinion, for it to just be a coincidence. Both sketches had been fairly detailed, too, and were practically photocopies of each other. And Amelie thought she could start seeing in Marinette little quirks that she was noticing about Ladybug. By the end of their first meeting, she had been almost certain that Marinette was Ladybug especially as she mentally matched traits to Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir. And Ladybug, when she'd looked at the vase. Almost immediately she'd picked out the crack, which would be nearly unnoticeable at first glance. Either she'd been looking for it or had an exceptional eye for colour. More than likely both.

Amelie had been very relieved when Marinette had simply accepted that her secret had been revealed. She'd explain later, but it felt good to know that, at least for now, Marinette trusted her. 

“How was the talk?” Amelie asked Adrien softly, as they settled into the couch in the living room. 

Chat Noir’s lips curved upwards. “Pretty great.”

“I still have to thank you. You helped me wrap that extra bouquet and I-” Chat Noir started.

Amelie sighed and leaned to pick up Jacq, dumping the cat into Chat Noir’s arms. “Oh, there’s no need to thank me. You did the hard bit. All I did was give you the flowers.”

Chat Noir still looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I could also use a bit of advice, because there’s another...another girl who may...erm, oh man this is hard to try to explain...”

Amelie decided to put Chat Noir out of his misery.

“I know.” Amelie reached over to stroke Jacq, who purred.

“I-wait, what do you mean you know?” Chat Noir’s face was just total shock and confusion, and it was hilarious. Amelie managed, however, to continue speaking in full sentences. 

“Of course I know. If you recall, I was there, Adrien.”

Chat Noir nearly dropped Jacq in surprise. 

“I-I...what...has...it’s a-has to be a mistake. I’m not...” Amelie sighed again, repressing the laughter. 

“Firstly, after dropping from the sky Chat Noir calls me Flower Girl, which was a nickname who gave me?” Amelie began to list. “Secondly, when I met Chat Noir he says my hair looks good down, when he's almost certainly never seen my hair up, unlike another blonde boy has earlier that day. Thirdly, you didn’t react much when I told you as Chat Noir I had someone else interested in the pink roses, almost no reaction. Fourthly, almost exactly the same flower arrangement ideas from talking to both Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste. Trust me, I almost never do that. Fifth-”

“Okay, I get the point!” Chat Noir ran a hand through his hair. 

“Actually, I had no fifth point.” Amelie grinned devilishly as Adrien sputtered in indignation. He slumped back into the couch, and his posture changed, just a little.

“There he is,” Amelie said in a singsong voice, as just like that, Adrien sat beside her.

“Adrien, there’s no reason why this won’t work. You promised that this might help you get over your crush, and the same with Marinette. This will really help all of you.” Amelie had been tempted to say “both of you”, but that was too big a hint to drop. It would've been fun if it sailed over his head, but Adrien wasn't that slow. Besides, Ladybug's identity was for herself to reveal. 

“I mean, no one really knows what will happen, so really this whole thing is kind of up to whatever you make of it. And now this scenario is probably the best one you could’ve dreamed for.” Amelie leaned back, pulling Jacq back into her arms. 

“It’ll work out.” Amelie wagged a finger at him. “And as I tell all my favourite customers, and as I remind you today, if you do not contract me for the wedding, I will be sorely disappointed.”

This resulted in another bout of indignant sputtering, before they lapsed into silence. Eventually, Adrien stood, and they walked up to the rooftop. 

“Thank you for everything.” Adrien tried again.

Amelie shook her head. “Don’t fall into another awning. I don’t think you need to put another poor girl through the same experiences as me.”

“Only your awning,” Adrien returned. He went somersaulting off the rooftop, and there he went, leaping with feline grace over the rooftops. Amelie stood there, soaking the night once again, alone at last.

Then she opened the door and went back inside, slipping it shut on a night that still lingered with moonlight and echoed of jazz and young love.

\--

That short span of four days resulted in quite a ripple effect. Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng were now spotted together on Fridays at a certain coffee establishment, often joined later on by a blonde, blue-eyed pianist. Sometimes Adrien played with the band there. The paparazzi sometimes attempted to move in, but often found coffee split on them by apologetic jazz musicians or had camera lenses blocked by guitar cases. 

Surprisingly, the uptick in people heading to get flowers from the florist down the street didn’t ebb by as much as anyone expected, and as people moved in and out, Amelie would recommend buying snacks from the Dupain-Cheng bakery, and if they took up that advice, would go into a store decorated with tasteful flowers, and obtain the Holy Grail of croissants.

Amelie’s band got some traction when Gabrielle’s joke account for the band @thejazzflowergirls actually managed to go somewhat viral playing jazz on a rooftop at night. The neighbours didn't usually mind. And on certain nights, on another rooftop, this one overlooking the Seine, two heroes would sit silhouetted against the night air, just talking.

Sometimes they would head to another rooftop, where four girls sat together and played music, accompanied by a tan and white cat that always seemed to understand one of the heroes’ words. They never did find out if he could really talk to cats. 

After all that, however, the two heroes often returned to that rooftop overlooking the Seine, the sights of Paris at night dancing in their eyes and music still lingering in their ears. Four days and one decision to get flowers can change everything.

The story never ends where we end it, and there is much more to this tale which may never be told. As far as stories go, however, endings are secondary. This is just a slice of continuum. The questions must be answered, the events concluded, nothing more. 

Brief epilogues like this one can do that. 

You don’t have to, but if you have to dream, there are worse ways to fall asleep than to fall asleep with roses in your hands. And who knows?

It might even work out someday. 

\--

Adrien fell into his pillow. His body ached, his muscles tired and strained from the day. It always was like this, but then again, the rush of adrenaline in his body never really seemed to leave him for a few hours after he went for a midnight run as Chat Noir.

None of that mattered, however, because Adrien was asleep and dreaming almost instantly, as he would every night, his heart full and satisfied, as the moon and the distant stars sprinkled pinpricks of light over the constellation set in the ground which was Paris by night. 

And the night sky was full of hope and magic, just waiting for the next day to begin. 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! This is my first completed multi-chap fic, so this is really exciting for me. Thank you so much for reading this story of mine. It started from me getting the line "do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand" stuck in my head from John Mayer's Dreaming With a Broken Heart. I did not expect to pull nearly 30K words out of that line, but there we go. It's been an adventure, and I hope I caught Adrien and Marinette right, and I really hope you guys liked my OC Amelie. Did you guys pick up the little hints? Hopefully it wasn't too obvious that there were a couple slipups, and as we've already seen, Amelie doesn't miss much.
> 
> Speaking of which, I may be writing a spin-off fic where Amelie meets Chloe, because I sense a lot of fun for Amelie to interact with Chloe and maybe Sabrina or Lila. Let me know if you guys have any ideas for what Amelie can run into and stay tuned for more stuff featuring the jazz-playing florist I had intended to be a minor character who popped up once. 
> 
> Thanks again! Stay safe, everyone.


End file.
